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POGANUC People 


THEIR LOVES AND LIVES. 




By Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
A M 


Author of Uncle Tonies Cabin^* Wife and If We and Out 
Neighbors f etc. 


Mill^ Illustrations. 



LIBRARY 
OF THE 

SUP.’.COUNCIL, 

SO • JlI‘^}SDlCTlOi\. 

BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. 

CamBriDp. 

1888. 



Copyright, 1878, 

By HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 
All rights reserved* 


of Supreme Council A.A.S,H. 
IlC' 4 194-0 


fy^ 1 5' M-i- 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. Dissolving Views, .... 
II. Dolly, 

III. The Illumination, .... 

IV. Dolly’s Adventure, 

V. Dolly’s First Christmas Day, 

VI. Village Politicians, 

VII. The Doctor's Sermon, 

VIII. Mr. Coan Answers the Doctor, . 

IX. Election Day in Poganuc, 

X. Dolly’s Perplexities, . 

XI. Dolly and Nabby are Invited Out, 

XII. Dolly goes into Company, . 

XIII. Colonel Davenport’s Experiences, . 

XIV. The Puzzle of Poganuc, 

XV. The Poganuc Puzzle Solved, . 

XVI. Poganuc Parsonage, 

XVII. Spring and Summer come at Last, . 
XVIII. Dolly’s Fourth of July, 

XIX. Summer Days in Poganuc, 

XX. Going “ a-Chestnutting,” 

XXI. Dolly’s Second Christmas, 

XXII. The Apple Bee, . . . . , 


PAGE 

7 

i 6 

24 

39 

48 

61 

68 

81 

90 

107 

115 

127 

138 

150 

160 

166 

i8r 

190 

203 

220 

228 

239 


V 


VI 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIII. Seeking a Divine Impulse, .... 250 

XXIV. “In Such an Hour as ye Think Not,” . 260 

XXV. Dolly Becomes Illustrious, .... 267 

XXVI. The Victory 274 

XXVII. The Funeral, . . . . . . 280 

XXVIII. Dolly at the Wicket Gate, . . . 290 

XXIX. The Conflict 294 

XXX. The Crisis, 300 

XXXI. The Joy of Harvest, 309 

XXXII. Six Years Later 317 

XXXIII. The Doctor Makes a Discovery, . . . 325 

XXXIV. Hiel and Nabby, . . . • . . . 330 

XXXV. Miss Debby Arrives 337 

XXXVI. Preparations for Seeing Life, . . . 344 

XXXVII.' Last Words, 350 

XXXVIII. Dolly’s First Letter to Boston, . . 354 

XXXIX. Dolly’s Second Letter, .... 360 

XL. Alfred Dunbar to Eugene Sinclair, . 365 

XLI. Finale, 370 


dllustratbns. 


The Parson’s Daughter, frontispiece. 

Caste, page 67 

Hiel in his Glory “ 109 

Chestnutting, « 226 


POGANUC PEOPLE. 


CHAPTER 1. 

DISSOLVING VIEWS. 

HE scene is a large, roomy, clean New / 
England kitchen of some sixty years 
ago. There was the great wide fire- 
place, with its crane and array of pot- 
hooks ; there was the tall black clock in the corner, 
ticking in response to the chirp of the crickets 
around the broad, flat stone hearth. The scoured 
tin and pewter on the dresser caught flickering 
gleams of brightness from the western sunbeams 
that shone through the network of elm-boughs, 
rattling and tapping as the wind blew them 
against the window. It was not quite half-past 
four o’clock, yet the December sun hung low and 
red in the western horizon, telling that the time of 
the shortest winter days was come. Everything 
in the ample room shone with whiteness and neat- 
ness; everything was ranged, put up, and in 
order, as if work were some past and bygone 

7 




8 


DISSOLVING VIEWS, 


affair, hardly to be remembered. The only living 
figure in this picture of still life was that of a 
strapping, buxom Yankee maiden, with plump 
arms stripped to the elbow and hands plunged 
deep in the white, elastic cushion of puffy dough, 
which rose under them as she kneaded. 

Apparently pleasant thoughts were her corn- 
pan}^ in her solitude, for her round, brown eyes 
twinkled with a pleased sparkle, and every now 
and then she broke into fragments of psalmody, 
which she practiced over and over, and then 
nodded her head contentedly, as if satisfied that 
she had caught the tune. 

Suddenly the outside door flew open and little 
Dolly Cushing burst into the kitchen, panting 
and breathless, her cheeks glowing with exercise 
in face of the keen winter wind. 

In she came, noisy and busy, dropping her 
knitting- work and spelling-book in her eagerness, 
shutting the door behind her with a cheerful 
bang, and opening conversation without stopping 
to get her breath : 

“ Oh, Nabby, Nabby ! do tell me what they 
are doing up at your church. I’ve seen ’em all 
day carrying armfulls and armfuUs — ever so 
much — spruce and pine up that way, and Jim 
Brace and Tom Peters told me they were going 
to have a ’lumination there, and when I asked 
what a ’lumination was they only laughed at me 


DISSOLVING VIEWS. 


9 


and called me a Presbyterian. Don’t you think 
it’s a shame, Nabby, that the big boys will laugh 
at me so and call me names and Avon’t tell me 
anything ?” 

^ Oh, land o’ Goshen, Dolly, what do you mind 
them boys for?” said Nabby boys is mostly 
hateful when girls is little\but we take our turn 
by and by,” she said with a complacent twinkle 
of her brown eyes. ‘‘ I make them stand around, 
I bet ye, and you will when you get older.\^ 

“ But, Nabby, what is a ’lamination ?” 

“ Well now, Dolly, you jest pick up your book, 
and put up your knittin’ work, and sweep out 
that snow you’ve tracked in, and hang up your 
bonnet and cloak, and I’ll tell you all about it,” 
said Nabby, taking up her whole cushion of 
dough and letting it down the other side with 
a great bound and beginning kneading again. 

The little maiden speedily complied with all 
her requisitions and came and stood, eager and 
breathless, by the bread bowl. 

And a very pretty picture she made there, 
with her rosy mouth just parted to show her 
little white teeth, and the afternoon sunshine 
glinting through the window brightness to go 
to the brown curls that hung over her round, 
white forehead, her dark blue eyes kindling with 
eagerness and curiosity. 

‘"Well, you see,” said Nabby, ""to-morrow’s 


lO 


DISSOLVING VIEWS. 


Christmas ; and they’ve been dressin* the church 
with ground pine and spruce boughs, and made 
it just as beautiful as can be, and they’re goin’ 
to have a great gold star over the chancel. 
General Lewis sent clear to Boston to get the 
things to make it of, and Miss Ida Lewis she 
made it ; and to-night they’re going to ’luminate. 
They put a candle in every single pane of glass 
in that air church, and it ’ll be all just as light 
as day. When they get ’em all lighted up you 
can see that air church clear down to North 
Poganuc.” 

Now this sentence was a perfect labyrinth of 
mystery to Dolly ; for she did not know what 
Christmas was, she did not know what the 
chancel was, she never saw anything dressed 
with pine, and she was wholly in the dark what 
it was all about ; and yet her bosom heaved, her 
breath grew short, her color came and went, 
and she trembled with excitement. Something 
bright, beautiful, glorious, must be coming into 
her life, and oh, if she could only see it ! 

“Oh, Nabby, are you going?” she said, with 
quivering eagerness. 

“ Yes, I’m goin’ with Jim Sawin. I belong to 
the singers, and I’m agoin’ early to practice on 
the anthem.” 

“Oh, Nabby, won’t you take me? Do, Nab- 
by !” said Dolly, piteously. 


DISSOLVING VIEWS, 


II 


Oh, land o’ Goshen ! no, child ; you mustn’t 
think on ’t. I couldn’t do that noways. Your 
pa never would hear of it, nor Mis’ Cushing 
neither. You see, your pa don’t b’lieve in 
Christmas.” 

What is Christmas, Nabby ?” 

Why, it’s the day Christ was born — that’s 
Christmas.” 

Why, my papa believes Christ was born,” 
said Dolly, with an injured air; “you needn’t 
tell me that he don’t. I’ve heard him read all 
about it in the Testament.” 

“ I didn’t say he didn’t, did I ?” said Nabby ; 
“but your papa ain’t a ’Piscopal, and he don’t 
believe in keeping none of them air prayer- 
book days — Christmas, nor Easter, nor nothin’,” 
said Nabby, with a generous profusion of nega- 
tives. “ Up to the ’Piscopal church they keep 
Christmas, and they don’t keep it down to your 
meetin’ house ; that’s the long and short on ’t,” 
and Nabby turned her batch of dough over with 
a final flounce, as if to emphasize the statement, 
and, giving one last poke in the middle of the 
fair, white cushion, she proceeded to rub the 
paste from her hands and to cover her completed 
batch with a clean white towel and then with a 
neat comforter of quilted cotton. Then, estab- 
lishing it in the warmest corner of the fireplace, 
she proceeded to wash her hands and look at 


12 


DISSOLVING VIEWS. 


the clock and make other movements to show 
that the conversation had come to an end. 

Poor little Dolly stood still, looking wistful 
and bewildered. The tangle of brown and golden 
curls on the outside of her little head was not 
more snarled than the conflicting ideas in the 
inside. This great and wonderful idea of Christ- 
mas, and all this confusion of images, of gold 
stars and green wreaths and illuminated windows 
and singing and music — all done because Christ 
was born, and yet something that her papa did 
not approve of — it was a hopeless puzzle. After 
standing thinking for a minute or two she re- 
sumed : 

“But, Nabby, why don’t my papa like it? and 
why don’t we have a ’lamination in our meeting- 
house ?” 

“ Bless your heart, child, they never does them 
things to Presbyterian meetin’SjV Folks’ ways is 
different, and them air is ’Piscopal ways. For 
my part Pm glad father signed off to the ’Pisco- 
palians, for it’s a great deal jollier.” 

“Oh, dear! my papa won’t ever sign off,” 
said Dolly, mournfully. 

“To be sure he won’t. Why, what nonsense 
that is!” said Nabby, with that briskness with 
vrhich grown people shake off the griefs of chil- 
dren. “ Of course he won’t when he’s a min- 
ister, so what’s the use of worry in’? You jest 


DISSOLVING VIEWS. 


13 


shet up now, for I’ve got to hurry and get tea; 
’cause your pa and ma are goin’ over to the 
lecture to-night in North Poganuc school-house 
and they’ll want their supper early.” 

Dolly still hung about wishfully. 

“Nabby, if I should ask papa, and he should 
say I might go, would you take me?” said Dolly. 

Now, Nabby was a good-natured soul enough 
and in a general way fond of children; she en- 
couraged Miss Dolly’s prattling visits to the 
kitchen, let her stand about surveying her 
in various domestic processes, and encouraged 
that free expression of opinion in conversation 
which in those days was entirely repressed on 
the part of juveniles in the presence of their 
elders. She was, in fact, fond of Dolly in a cer- 
tain way, but not fond enough of her to inter- 
fere with the serious avocations of life ; and 
Nabby was projecting very serious and delicate 
movements of diplomacy that night. She was 
going to the church with Jim Sawin, who was 
on the very verge of a declared admiration, not 
in the least because her heart inclined toward 
Jim, but as a means of bringing Ike Peters to 
capitulation in a quarrel of some weeks’ standing. 
Jim Sawin’s “folks,” as she would have phrased 
it, were “ meetin’ers,” while Ike Peters was a 
leading member of the Episcopal choir, and it 
was designed expressly to aggravate him that 


14 


DISSOLVING VIEWS, 


she was to come in exhibiting her captive in 
triumph. To have ^‘a child ’round under her 
feet,” >while engaged in conducting affairs of such 
delicacy, was manifestly impossible — so impossi- 
ble that she thought stern repression of any such 
idea the very best policy. 

“Now, Dolly Cushing, you jest shet up — for 
’tain’t no use talkin’. Your pa nor your ma 
wouldn’t hear on’t; and besides, little girls like 
you must go to bed early. They can’t be up 
^ night-hawkin’,’ and goin’ round in the cold. 
You might catch cold and die like little Julia 
Cavers, Little girls must be in bed and asleep 
by eight o’clock.” 

Dolly stood still with a lowering brow. Just 
then the world looked very dark. Her little 
rose-leaf of an under lip rolled out and quivered, 
and large bright drops began falling one by one 
over her cheeks. 

Nabby had a soft spot in her heart, and felt 
these signs of affliction; but she stood firm. 

“Now, Dolly, I’m sorry; but you can’t go. 
So you jest be a good girl and not say no more 
about it, and don’t cry, and I’ll tell you what 
I’ll do: I’ll buy you a sugar dog down to the 
store, and I’ll tell you all about it to-morrow,” 

Dolly had seen these sugar dogs in the window 
of the store, resplendent with their blue backs 
and yellow ears and pink tails — designed prob- 


DISSOLVING VIEWS. 


15 


ably to represent dogs as they exist at the end 
of the rainbow. Her heart had burned within her 
with hopeless desire to call one of these beauties 
her own; and Nabby’s promise brought out a 
gleaming smile through the showery atmosphere 
of her little face. A sugar dog might reconcile 
her to life. 

“ Now, you must promise me * certain true as 
black is blue,* ” said Nabby, adjuring by an ap- 
parently irrational form of conjuration in vogue 
among the children in those times. “You must 
promise you won’t say a word about this ’ere 
thing to your pa or ma ; for they wouldn’t hear 
of your goin’, and if they would I shouldn’t 
take you. I really couldn’t. It would be very 
inconvenient.” 

Dolly heaved a great sigh, but thought of the 
sugar dog, and calmed down the tempest that 
seemed struggling to rise in her little breast. A 
rainbow of hope rose over the cloud of disap- 
pointment, and a sugar dog with yellow ears 
and pink tail gleamed consolingly through it. 


CHAPTER II. 

DOLLY. 



[UR little Dolly was a late autumn 
chicken, the youngest of ten children, 
the nursing, rearing and caring for 
* whom had straitened the limited salary 
of Parson Cushing, of Poganuc Center, and sorely 
worn on the nerves and strength of the good wife 
who plied the laboring oar in these performances. 

It was Dolly’s lot to enter the family at a period 
when babies were no longer a novelty, when the 
house was full of the wants and clamors of older' 
children, and the mother at her very wits’ end 
with a confusion of jackets and trowsers, soap, 
candles and groceries, and the endless harass- 
ments of making both ends meet which pertain 
to the lot of a poor country minister’s wife. Con- 
sequently Dolly was disposed of as she grew up 
in all those short-hand methods by which chil- 
dren were taught to be the least possible trouble 
to their elders. She was taught to come when 
called, and do as she was bid without a question 
or argument, to be quenched in bed at the earliest 
possible hour at night, and to speak only when 

i6 


DOLL y. 


17 


spoken to in the presence of her elders. All this 
was a dismal repression to Dolly, for she was 
by nature a lively, excitable little thing, bursting 
with questions that she longed to ask, and with 
comments and remarks that she burned to make, 
and so she escaped gladly to the kitchen where 
Nabby, the one hired girl, who was much in 
the same situation of repressed communicative- 
ness, encouraged her conversational powers. 

On the whole, although it never distinctly 
occurred to Dolly to murmur at her lot in life 
yet at times she sighed over the dreadful insig- 
nificance of being only a little girl in a great 
family of grown up people. For even Dolly’s 
brothers nearest her own age were studying in 
the academy and spouting scraps of superior 
Latin at her to make her stare and wonder at 
their learning. They were tearing, noisy, tem- 
pestuous boys, good natured enough and willing 
to pet her at intervals, but prompt to suggest 
that it was ‘^time for Dolly to go to bed” when 
her questions or her gambols interfered with 
their evening pleasures. 

Dolly was a robust, healthy little creature, 
never ailing in any way, and consequently re- 
ceived none of the petting which a more delicate 
child might have claimed, and the general course 
of her experience impressed her with the mournful 
conviction that she was always liable to be in the 


i8 


DOLLY. 


’way — as she commonly was, with her childish cu- 
riosity, her burning desire to see and hear and 
know ail that interested the grown people above 
her. Dolly sometimes felt her littleness and in- 
significance as quite a burden, and longed to be 
one of the grown-up people. They got civil an- 
swers when they asked questions, instead of being 
told not to talk, and they were not sent to bed 
the minute it was dark, no matter what pleasant 
things were going on about them. Once Dolly 
remembered to have had sore throat with fever. 
The doctor was sent for. Her mother put away 
all her work and held her in her arms. Her 
father came down out of his study and sat up 
rocking her nearly all night, and her noisy, rois- 
tering brothers came softly to her door and 
inquired how she was, and Dolly was only sorry 
that the cold passed off so soon, and she found 
herself healthy and insignificant as ever. Being 
gifted with an active fancy, she sometimes imag- 
ined a scene when she should be sick and die, 
and her father and mother and everybody would 
cry over her, and there w^ould be a funeral for 
her as there was for a little Julia Cavers, one of 
her playmates. She could see no drawback to 
the interest of the scene except that she could 
not be there to enjoy her own funeral and see 
how much she was appreciated ; so on the whole 
she turned her visions in another direction and 


DOLL Y. 


19 


fancied the time when she should be a grown 
woman and at liberty to do just as she pleased. 

It must not be imagined, however, that 
Dolly had an unhappy childhood. Indeed it 
may be questioned whether, if she had lived in 
our day when the parents often seem to be sit- 
ting at the feet of their children and humbly 
inquiring after their sovereign will and pleasure, 
she would have been much happier than she 
was. She could not have all she wanted, and 
the most petted child on earth cannot. She had 
learned to do without what she could not get, 
and to bear what she did not like ; two sources 
of happiness and peace which we should judge 
to be unknown to many modern darlings. For 
the most part Dolly had learned to sail her 
own little boat wisely among the bigger and 
bustling crafts of the older generation. 

There were no amusements then specially pro- 
vided for children. There were no children’s 
books; there were no Sunday-schools to teach 
bright little songs and to give children picnics 
and presents. It was a grown people’s world, 
and not a child’s world, that existed in those 
days. Even children’s toys of the period were 
so poor and so few that, in comparison with our 
modern profusion, they could scarcely be said to 
exist. 

Dolly, however, had her playthings, as every 


20 


DOLLY. 


child of lively fancy will. Childhood is poetic 
and creative, and can make to itself toys out of 
nothing. Dolly had the range of the great wood- 
pile in the back yard, where, at the yearly ‘‘ wood- 
spell,” the farmers deposited the fuel needed for 
the long, terrible winters, and that woodpile was 
a world of treasure to her. She skipped, and 
sung, and climbed among its intricacies and found 
there treasures of wonder. Green velvet mosses, 
little white trees of lichen that seemed to her to 
have tiny apples upon them, long grey-bearded 
mosses and fine scarlet cups and fairy caps she 
collected and treasured. She arranged landscapes 
of these, where green mosses made the fields, 
and little sprigs of spruce and ground-pine the 
trees, and bits of broken glass imitated rivers 
and lakes, reflecting the overshadowing banks. 
She had, too, hoards of chestnuts and walnuts 
which a squirrel might have envied, picked up 
with her own hands from under the yellow 
autumn leaves; and she had — chief treasure of 
all— a wooden doll, with staring glass eyes, that 
had been sent her by her grandmother in Boston, 
which doll was the central point in all her ar- 
rangements. To her she showed the chestnuts 
and walnuts; she gave to her the jay’s feathers 
and the bluebird’s wing which the boys had 
given to her ; she made her a bed of divers colors 
and she made her a set of tea-cups out of the 


DOLLY. 


21 


backbone of a codfish. She brushed and curled 
her hair till she took all the curl out of it, and 
washed all the paint off her cheeks in the zeal 
of motherly ablutions. 

In fact nobody suspected that Dolly was not 
the happiest of children, as she certainly was one 
of the busiest and healthiest, and when that even- 
ing her two brothers came in from the Academy, 
noisy and breezy, and tossed her up in their long 
arms, her laugh rung gay and loud, as if there 
were no such thing as disappointment in the 
world. 

She pursed her mouth very tight for fear that 
she should let out something on the forbidden 
subject at the supper-table. But it was evident 
that nothing could be farther from the mind of 
her papa, who, at intervals, was expounding to 
his wife the difference between natural and moral 
inability as drawn out in a pamphlet he was 
preparing to read at the next ministers’ meeting 
— remarks somewhat interrupted by reproof to 
the boys for giggling at table and surreptitiously 
feeding Spring, the dog, in contravention of fam- 
ily rules. 

It is not to be supposed that Will and Tom 
Cushing, though they were minister’s boys, were 
not au courant in all that was going on note- 
worthy in the parish. In fact, they were fully 
versed in all the details of the projected cere- 


22 


DOLL Y. 


monies at the church and resolved to be in at 
the show, but maintained a judicious reticence 
as to their intentions lest, haply, they might be 
cut short by a positive interdict. 

The Episcopal church at Poganuc Center was 
of recent origin. It was a small, insignificant 
building compared with the great square three- 
decker of a meeting-house which occupied con- 
spicuously the green in Poganuc Center. The 
minister was not a man particularly gifted in any 
of those points of pulpit excellence which Dr. 
Cushing would be likely to appreciate, and the 
Doctor had considered it hitherto too small and 
unimportant an affair to be worth even a combat- 
ive notice; hence his ignorance and indifference 
to what was going on there. He had heard inci- 
dentally that they were dressing the church with 
pines and going to have a Christmas service, but 
he only murmured something about 'Uolerahiles 
ineptice'" to the officious deacon who had called 
his attention to the fact. The remark, being in 
Latin, impressed the Deacon with a sense of 
profound and hidden wisdom. The people of 
Poganuc Center paid a man a salary for knowing 
more than they did, and they liked to have a 
scrap of Latin now and then to remind them 
of this fact. So the Deacon solemnly informed 
all comers into the store who discussed recent 
movements that the Doctor had his eyes open; 


DOLLY. 


23 


he knew ail about these doings and they should 
hear from him yet; the Doctor had expressed 
his mind to him. 

The Doctor, in fact, was far more occupied 
with a certain Dr. Pyncheon, whose views of 
moral inability he expected entirely to confound 
by the aforesaid treatise which he had been pre- 
paring. 

So after supper the boys officiously harnessed 
and brought up the horse and sleigh destined 
to take their parents to North Poganuc school 
house, and saw them set off— listening to the 
last jingle of the sleigh bells with undisguised 
satisfaction. 

“ Good ! Now, Tom, let’s go up to the church 
and get the best places to see,” exclaimed Bill. 

“ Oh, boys, are you going ? ” cried Dolly, in a 
piteous voice. “Oh, do take me! Nabby’s 
going, and everybody, and I want to go.” 

“Oh, you mustn’t go; you’re a little girl and 
it’s your bed-time,” said Tom and Bill, as with 
Spring barking at their heels they burst in a 
windy swoop of noise out of the house, boys 
and dog about equally intelligent as to what it 
was all about. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE ILLUMINATION. 

EFORE going farther in our story vve 
pause to give a brief answer to the 
queries that have risen in the minds o 
some who remember the old times ir 
New England : How came there to be any Epis 
copalians or Episcopal church in a small Puritai 
town like Poganuc? 

The Episcopal Church in New England in the 
early days was emphatically a root out of dry 
ground, with as little foothold in popular sym 
pathy as one of those storm-driven junipers, tha^ 
the east wind blows all aslant, has in the rocky 
ledges of Cape Cod. The soil, the climate, the 
atmosphere, the genius, and the history of the 
people were all against it. Its forms and cere- 
monies were all associated with the persecution 
which drove the Puritans out of England and 
left them no refuge but the rock-bound shores 
of America. It is true that in the time of Gov- 
ernor Winthrop the colony of Massachusetts 
appealed with affectionate professions to their 

Mother, the Church of England, and sought her 
24 



THE ILLUMINATION. 


25 


sympathy and her prayers ; but it is also unfor- 
tunately true that the forms of the Church of 
England were cultivated and maintained in New 
England by the very party whose intolerance 
and tyranny brought on the Revolutionary war. 

All the oppressive governors of the colonies 
were Episcopalians, and in the Revolutionary 
struggle the Episcopal Church was very gen- 
erally on the Tory side ; hence, the New 
Englanders came to have an aversion to its 
graceful and beautiful ritual and forms for the 
same reason that the free party in Spain and 
Italy now loathe the beauties of the Romish 
Church, as signs and symbols of tyranny and 
oppression. 

Congregationalism — or, as it was then called 
by the common people, Presbyterianism — was 
the religion established by law in New England. 
It was the State Church. Even in Boston in its 
colonial days, the King’s Chapel and Old North 
were only dissenting churches, unrecognized by 
the State, but upheld by the patronage of the 
colonial governors who were sent over to them 
from England. For a long time after the Revo- 
lutionary war the old regime of the State Church 
held undisputed sway in New England. There 
was the one meeting-house, the one minister, in 
every village. Every householder was taxed for 
the support of public worship, and stringent law 


26 


THE ILLUMINATION, 


and custom demanded of every one a personal 
attendance on Sunday at both services. If any 
defaulter failed to put in an appearance it was the 
minister’s duty to call promptly on Monday and 
know the reason why. There was no place for 
differences of religious opinion. All that indi- 
vidualism which now raises a crop of various little 
churches in every country village was sternly 
suppressed. For many years only members of 
churches could be eligible to public offices ; 
Sabbath-keeping was enforced with more than 
Mosaic strictness, and New England justified the 
sarcasm which said that they had left the Lords- 
Bishops to be under the Lords-Brethren. In those 
days if a sectarian meeting of Methodists or Bap- 
tists, or an unseemly gathering of any kind, 
seemed impending, the minister had only to put 
on his cocked hat, take his gold-headed cane and 
march down the village street, leaving his prohi- 
bition at every house, and the thing was so done 
even as he commanded. 

In the very nature of things such a state of 
society could not endure. The shock that sepa- 
rated the nation from a king and monarchy, the 
sense of freedom and independence, the hardi- 
hood of thought which led to the founding of a 
new civil republic, were fatal to all religious con- 
straint. Even before the Revolutionary war there 
were independent spirits that chafed under the 


THE ILLUMINATION. 


27 


constraint of clerical supervision, and Ethan Allen 
advertised his farm and stock for sale, expressing 
his determination at any cost to get out of “ this 
old holy State of Connecticut.” 

It was but a little while after the close of the 
war that established American independence 
that the revolution came which broke up the 
State Church and gave to every man the liberty 
of “signing off,” as it was called, to any denom- 
ination that pleased him. Hence arose through 
New England churches of all names. The nu- 
cleus of the Episcopal Church in any place was 
generally some two or three old families of ances- 
tral traditions in its favor, who gladly welcomed 
to their fold any who, for various causes, were 
discontented with the standing order of things. 
Then, too, there came to them gentle spirits, 
cut and bleeding by the sharp crystals of doc- 
trinal statement, and courting the balm of devo- 
tional liturgy and the cool shadowy indefiniteness 
of more aesthetic forms of worship. Also, any 
one that for any cause had a controversy with 
the dominant church took comfort in the power 
of “signing off” to another. In those days, to 
belong to no church was not respectable, but to 
sign off to the Episcopal Church was often a 
compromise that both gratified self-will and saved 
one’s dignity ; and, having signed off, the new 
convert was obliged, for consistency s sake, to 


28 


THE ILLUMINATION. 


justify the step he had taken by doing his best 
to uphold the doctrine and worship of his chosen 
church. 

The little edifice at Poganuc had been trimmed 
and arranged with taste and skill. For that mat- 
ter, it would seem as if the wild woods of New 
England were filled with garlands and decora- 
tions already made and only waiting to be used 
in this graceful service. Under the tall spruces 
the ground was all ruffled with the pretty wreaths 
of ground-pine ; the arbor vitae, the spruce, 
the cedar and juniper, with their balsamic breath, 
filled the aisles with a spicy fragrance. It was 
a cheaply built little church, in gothic forms, 
with pointed windows and an arch over the 
chancel; and every arch was wreathed with 
green, and above the chancel glittered a great 
gold star, manufactured by Miss Ida Lewis out 
of pasteboard and gilt paper ordered in Boston. 
It was not gold, but it glittered, and the people 
that looked on it were not blas^, as everybody 
in our days is, with sight seeing. The inno- 
cent rustic life of Poganuc had no pageants, no 
sights, no shows, except the eternal blazonry of 
nature; and therefore the people were prepared 
to be dazzled and delighted with a star cut out 
of gilt paper. There was bustling activity of 
boys and men in lighting the windows, and a 


THE ILLUMINATION, 


29 


general rush of the populace to get the best 
seats. 

“Wal, now, this beats all!” said Kiel Jones 
the stage driver, who had secured one of the 
best perches in the little gallery. 

Kiel Jones, in virtue of his place on the high 
seat of the daily stage that drove through Poga- 
nuc Center on the Boston turnpike, felt himself 
invested with a sort of grandeur as occupying a 
predominant position in society from whence he 
could look down on all its movements and in- 
terests. Everybody bowed to Hiel. Every 
housekeeper charged him with her bundle or 
commissioned him with her errand. Bright-eyed 
damsels smiled at him from windows as he drove 
up to house-doors, and of all that was going on 
in Poganuc Center, or any of the villages for 
twenty miles around, Hiel considered himself 
as a competent judge and critic. Therefore he 
came at an early hour and assumed a seat where 
he could not only survey the gathering congre- 
gation but throw out from time to time a few 
suggestions on the lighting up and arrangements. 

Putty wal got up, this ’ere, for Poganuc 
Center,” he said to Job Peters, a rather heavy 
lad who had secured the place beside him. 

“ Putty wal, considerin’ I Take care there, 
Siah Beers, ye’ll set them air spruce boughs afire 
ef you ain’t careful lightin’ your candles ; spruce 


30 


THE ILLUMINATION. 


boughs go like all natur ef ye once start ’em. 
These ’ere things takes jedgment, Siah. Tell Ike 
Bissel there to h’ist his pole a leetle higher; he 
don’t reach them air top candles ; what’s the 
feller thinkin’ of? Look out, Jimmy! Ef ye let 
down that top winder it flares the candles, and 
they’ll gutter like thunder ; better put it up.” 

When the church was satisfactorily lighted 
Kiel began his comments on the assembling 
audience : 

“ There goes Squire Lewis and Mis’ Lewis 
and old lady Lewis and Idy Lewis and the 
Lewis boys. On time, they be. Heads down 
— sayin’ prayers, I s’pose! Folks don’t do so 
t’ our meetin’ ; but folks’ ways is different. Bless 
my soul, ef there ain’t old Zeph Higgins, lookin’ 
like a last year’s mullen-stalk ! I swow, ef the 
old critter hain’t act’ally hitched up and come 
down with his hull team — wife and boys and 
yaller dog and all.” 

“Why, Zeph Higgins ain’t ’Piscopal, is he?” 
said Job, who was less versed than Hiel in 
the gossip of the day. 

“ Lordy massy, yis I Hain’t ye heard that 
Zeph’s signed off two months ago, and goin’ in 
strong for the ’Piscopals?” 

“Wal, that air beats all,” said his auditor. 
“ Zeph is about the last timber I’d expect to 
make a ’Piscopal of.” 


THE ILLUMINATION. 


31 


‘‘Oh, lands! he ain’t no more ’Piscopal than 
I be, Zeph Higgins ain’t ; he’s nothin’ but a mad 
Presbyterian, like a good many o’ the rest on 
’em,” said Hiel. 

“Why, what’s he mad about?” 

“ Laws, it’s nothin’ but that air old business 
about them potatoes that Zeph traded to Deacon 
Dickenson a year ago. Come to settle up, there 
was about five and sixpence that they couldn’t 
’gree ’bout. Zeph, he said the deacon cheated 
him, and the deacon stood to it he was right; 
and they had it back and forth, and the deacon 
wouldn’t give in, and Zeph wouldn’t. And 
there they stood with their horns locked like 
two bulls in a pastur’ lot. Wal, they had 
’em up ’fore the church, and they was labored 
with — both sides. The deacon said, finally, he’d 
pay the money for peace’ sake, if Zeph would 
take back what he said ’bout his bein’ a cheat 
and a liar ; and Zeph he said he wouldn’t take 
nothin’ back; and then the church they sus- 
pended Zeph ; and Zeph he signed off to the 
’Piscopals.” 

“ I want to know, now,” said Job, with a sat- 
isfied air of dawning comprehension. 

“ Yis, sir, that air’s the hull on’t. But I tell 
you, Zeph’s led the old deacon a dance. Zeph, 
ye see, is one o’ them ropy, stringy fellers, jest 
like touch- wood— once get ’em a burnin’ and 


THE ILLUMINATION. 


32 

they keep on a burnin’ night and day. Zeph | 
really sot up nights a hatin’ the deacon, and 
contrivin’ what he could do agin him. Finally, 
it come into his head that the deacon got his 
water from a spring on one of Zeph’s high pas- 
tur’ lots. The deacon had laid pipes himself and 
brought it ’cross lots down to his house. Wal, 
wat does Zeph do, without sayin’ a word to the 
deacon, but he takes up all the deacon’s logs 
that carried the water ’cross his lot, and throw’d 
’em over the fence ; and, fust the deacon’s wife 
knowed, she hadn’t a drop o’ water to wash or 
cook with, or drink, nor nothin’. Deacon had 
to get all his water carted in barrels. Wal, they 
went to law ’bout it and ’tain’t settled y it ; but 
Zeph he took Squire Lewis for his lawyer. 
Squire Lewis, ye see, he’s the gret man to the 
’Piscopal Church. Folks say he putty much 
built this ’ere church.” 

“ Wal, now,” said Job, after an interval of med- 
itation, ‘‘ I shouldn’t think the ’Piscopals wouldn’t 
get no gret advantage from them sort o’ fel- 
lers.” 

^‘That air’s jest what I was a tellin’ on ’em 
over to the store,” said Kiel, briskly. “ Deacon 
Peasley, he was a mournin’ about it. Lordy 
massy, deacon, says I, don’t you worry. If them 
’Piscopalians has got Zeph Higgins in their 
camp — why, they’ve bit off more ’n they can 


THE ILLUMINATION. 


33 

chaw, that’s all. They’ll find it out one o’ these 
days — see if they don’t.” 

“Wal, but Zeph’s folks is putty nice folks, 
now,” said Job. 

^ — wal, yis — they be ; don’t say nothin’ agin 
his folks. Mis’ Higgins is a meek, marciful old 
body, kind o’ heart-broken at leavin’ Parson 
Cushing and her meetin’. Then there’s Nabby, 
and the boys. Wal, they sort o’ like it — young 
folks goes in for new things. There’s Nabby 
over there now, come in with Jim Sawin. I 
believe she’s makin’ a fool o’ that air fellow. 
Harnsom gal, Nabby is — knows it too — and 
sarves out the fellers. Maybe she’ll go through 
the wood and pick up a crooked stick ’fore she 
knows it. I’ve sot up wil^ Nabby myself; but 
laws, she ain’t fhe only world — plenty 

on ’em all ’round the 

“Why,” exclaimed his ^Kighbor, “if there ain’t 
the minister’s boys doyrn there in that front 
slip ! ” 

“Sartin; you may bet on Bill and Tom for 
bein’ into the best seat whatever ’s goin’ on. 
Likely boys ; wide awake they be ! Bill there 
could drive stage as well as I can, only if I didn’t 
hold on to him he ’d have us all to the darnation 
in five minutes. There ’s the makin’ of suthin’ in 
that Bill. He ’ll go strong to the Lord or to 
the devil one o’ these days.” 


34 


THE ILLUMINATION. 


*'Wal, what’s his father think of his bein’ 
here?” 

“Parson Cushing! Lordy massy, he don’t 
know nothin’ where they be. Met him and Mis’ 
Cushing jinglin’ over to the Friday evenin’ 
prayer-meetin’ to North Poganuc.” 

“Wal, now,” said his neighbor, “ef there ain’t 
Lucius Jenks down there and Mis’ Jenks, and 
all his folks.” 

“Yis — yis, jes’ so. They say Lucius is think- 
in’ of signin’ off to the ’Piscopals to get the trade. 
He ’s jest sot up store, and Deacon Dickenson ’s 
got all the ground ; but there ’s the Lewises and 
the Copleys and the Danforths goes to the ’Pis- 
copals, and they ’s folks that lives well and uses 
lots of groceries. I should n’t wonder ef Lucius 
should make a good thing on ’t. Jenks ain’t one 
that cares much which church he goes to, and, 
like enough, it don’t make much difference to 
some folks.” 

“ You know this ’ere minister they’ve got 
here?” asked Job. 

“Know him? Guess so!” said Hiel, with a 
superior smile. “ Pve known Sim Coan ever 
since he wore short jackets. Sim comes from 
over by East Poganuc. His gran’ther was old 
Gineral Coan, a gret Tory he was, m the war 
times. Sim’s ben to college, and he’s putty 
smart and chipper. Come to heft him, tho’, he 


THE ILLUMINATION. 


35 


don’t weigh much ’longside o’ Parson Cushing. 
He’s got a good voice, and reads well ; but come 
to a sermon — wal, ain’t no gret heft in’t.” 

“ Want to know,” said his auditor. 

“Yis,” said Kiel, ^‘but Sim’s almighty plucky. 
You’d think now, cornin’ into this ’ere little bit of 
a church, right opposite Parson Cushing’s great 
meetin’-house, and with the biggest part of folks 
goin’ to meetin’, that he’d sing small at fust; but 
he don’t. Lordy massy, no ! He comes right out 
with it that Parson Cushing ain’t no minister, 
and hain’t got no right to preach, nor administer 
sacraments, nor nothin’ — nor nobody else but him 
and his ’Piscopal folks, that’s been ordained by 
bishops. He gives it to ’em, hip and thigh, I tell 
you.” 

That air don’t look reasonable,” said Job, after 
a few minutes of profound reflection. 

Wal, Sim says this ’ere thing has come 
right stret down from the ’Postles — one ordainin’ 
another in a steady string all the way down till it 
come to him. And Parson Cushing, he’s out in 
the cold, ’cause there hain't no bishop ordained 
him.” 

“ Wal, I declare !” said the other. I think that 
air ’s cheek.” 

“Ain’t it now.?” said Hiel. “Now, for my 
part, I go for the man that does his work best. 
Here’s all our ministers round a savin’ sinners and 


THE ILLUMINATION. 


36 

convartin* souls, whether the ’Postles ordained 
’em or not — that’s what ministers is fur. I’ll set 
Parson Cushing ’longside any minister — preachin’ 
and teachm’ and holdin’ meetin’s in Poganuc 
Center, and North and South Poganuc, and 
gatherin’ church members, and seein’ to the 
schools, and keepin’ every thing agoin’. That 
air kind o’ minister ’s good enough for me'' 

“ Then you've no thoughts of signing off?” 

“Not a bit on’t. My old mother, she thinks 
every thing o’ Parson Cushing. She’s a gret deal 
better jedge than I be o’ this ’ere sort o’ thing. I 
shall go to meetin’ with Mother.” 

“ It’s sort o' takin’ and pretty, though, this ’ere 
dressing up the church and all,” said his neighbor. 

“ Wal, yis, 'tis putty,” said Hiel, looking 
around with an air of candid allowance, “ but 
who ’s going to pay for it all ? These ’ere sort 
of things chalk up, ye know. All these ’ere taller 
candles ain’t burnt out for nothing — somebody’s 
got to foot the bills.” 

“ Wal, I like the orgin,” said Job. “I wish we 
had an orgin to our meetin’.” 

“ Dunno,” said Hiel, loth to admit any superi- 
ority. “Wal, they wouldn’t a hed none ef it 
hadn’t been for Uncle Sol Peters. You know he’s 
kind o’ crazy to sing, and he hain t got no ear, and 
no more voice ’n a saw-mill, and they wouldn't 
hev ’im in our singer seats, and so he went off to 


THE ILLUMINATION, 


37 


the Tiscopals. And he bought an orgin right 
out and out, and paid for it, and put it in this 
church so that they’d let him be in the singin’. 
You know they can make noise enough with an 
orgin to drown his voice.” 

Wal, it was considerable for Uncle Sol to do 
— wa’n’t it?” said Job. 

“ Laws, he’s an old bachelor, hain’t got no wife 
and children to support, so I s’pose he may as 
well spend his money that way as any. Uncle 
Sol never could get any gal to hev him. There 
he is now, tryin’ to get ’longside o’ Nabby Hig- 
gins; but you’ll see he won’t do it. She knows 
what she’s about. Now, for my part, I like our 
singin’ up to the meetin’ -house full as wal as 
this ’ere. I like good old-fashioned psalm tunes, 
with Ben Davis to lead — that’s the sort / like.” 

It will have been remarked that Hiel was 
one of that common class of Yankees who felt 
provided with a ready-made opinion of every- 
thing and every subject that could possibly be 
started, from stage-driving to apostolic succes- 
sion, with a most comfortable opinion of the 
importance of his approbation and patronage. 

When the house was filled and the evening 
service begun Hiel looked down critically as 
the audience rose or sat down or bowed in th^ 
Creed. The tones of the small organ, leading the 
choral chant and somewhat covering the uncult- 


THE ILLUMINATION. 


38 

ured roughness of the voices in the choir, rose 
and filled the green arches with a solemn and 
plaintive sound, affecting many a heart that scarce 
could give a reason why. It was in truth a very 
sweet and beautiful service, and one calculated to 
make a thoughtful person regret that the Church 
of England had ever expelled the Puritan leaders 
from an inheritance of such lovely possibilities. 
When the minister’s sermon appeared, however, 
it proved to be a spirited discourse on the obliga- 
tion of keeping Christmas, to which Hiel list- 
ened with pricked-up ears, evidently bristling 
with combativeness. 

“ Parson Cushing could knock that air all to 
flinders ; you see if he can’t,” said Hiel, the mo- 
ment the concluding services allowed him space 
to speak his mind. Wal, did ye see old Zeph 
a-gettin’ up and a-settin’ down in the wrong place, 
and tryin’ to manage his prayer-book?” he said. 

It’s worse than the militia drill — he never hits 
right. I hed to laugh to see him. Hulloa! if 
there ain’t little Dolly down there in the corner, 
under them cedars. How come she out this time 
o’ night? Guess Parson Cushing ’ll hev to look 
out for this ’ere!” 


CHAPTER IV. 


dolly’s adventure. 

, after all, Dolly was there! Yes, 
5 was. Human nature, which runs 
[d with the oldest of us at times, was 
) strong for poor little Dolly. 

Can any of us look back to the earlier days 
of our mortal pilgrimage and remember the help- 
less sense of desolation and loneliness caused by 
being forced to go off to the stillness and dark- 
ness of a solitary bed far from all the beloved 
voices and employments and sights of life? Can 
we remember lying, hearing distant voices, and 
laughs of more fortunate, older people, and the 
opening and shutting of distant doors, that told 
of scenes of animation and interest from which 
we were excluded? How doleful sounded the 
tick of the clock, and how dismal was the dark- 
ness as sunshine faded from the window, leaving 
only a square of dusky dimness in place of day- 
light I 

All who remember these will sympathize with 
Dolly, who was hustled off to bed by Nabby 

39 



40 


DOLLY'S ADVENTURE. 


the minute supper was over, that she might 
have the decks clear for action. 

“Now be a good girl; shut your eyes, and 
say your prayers, and go right to sleep,” had 
been Nabby’s parting injunction as she went 
out, closing the door after her. 

The little head sunk into the pillow and Dolly 
recited her usual liturgy of “Our Father who 
art in Heaven,” and “I pray God to bless my 
dear father and mother and all my dear friends 
and relations, and make me a good girl;” and 
ending with 

“ ‘ Now I lay me down to sleep.’ ” 

But sleep she could not. The wide, bright, 
wistful blue eyes lay shining like two stars 
towards the fading light in the window, and the 
little ears were strained to catch every sound. She 
heard the shouts of Tom and Bill and the loud 
barking of Spring as they swept out of the door ; 
and the sound went to her heart. Spring — her 
faithful attendant, the most loving and sympathetic 
of dogs, her friend and confidential counsellor 
in many a solitary ramble — Spring had gone with 
the boys to see the sight, and left her alone. 
She began to pity herself and cry softly on her 
pillow. For awhile she could hear Nabby’s en- 
ergetic movements below, washing up dishes, 
setting back chairs, and giving energetic thumps 


DOLLY'S ADVENTURE, 


41 


and bangs here and there, as her way was of 
producing order. But by and by that was all 
over, and she heard the loud shutting of the 
kitchen door and Nabby’s voice chatting with 
her attendant as she went off to the scene of 
gaiety. 

In those simple, innocent days in New England 
villages nobody thought of locking house doors 
at night. There was in those times no idea either 
of tramps or burglars, and many a night in sum- 
mer had Dolly lain awake and heard the voices of 
tree-toads and whippoorwills mingling with the 
whisper of leaves and the swaying of elm boughs, 
while the great outside door of the house lay 
broad open in the moonlight. But then this was 
when everybody was in the house and asleep, 
when the door of her parents’ room stood open 
on the front hall, and she knew she could run to 
the paternal bed in a minute for protection. 
Now, however, she knew the house was empty. 
Everybody had gone out of it ; and there is some- 
thing fearful to a little lonely body in the possi- 
bilities of a great, empty house. She got up and 
opened her door, and the “tick-tock” of the old 
kitchen clock for a moment seemed like company ; 
but pretty soon its ticking began to strike louder 
and louder with a nervous insistancy on her ear, 
till the nerves quivered and vibrated, and she 
couldn’t go to sleep. She lay and listened to all 


42 


DOLLY'S ADVENTURE. 


the noises outside. It was a still, clear, freezing 
night, when the least sound clinked with a me- 
tallic resonance. She heard the runners of 
sleighs squeaking and crunching over the frozen 
road, and the lively jingle of bells. They would 
come nearer, nearer, pass by the house, and go 
off in the distance. Those were the happy folks 
going to see the gold star and the Christmas 
greens in the church. The gold star, the Christ- 
mas greens, had all the more attraction from their 
vagueness. Dolly was a fanciful little creature, 
and the clear air and romantic scenery of a moun- 
tain town had fed her imagination. Stories she 
had never read, except those in the Bible and the 
Pilgrim’s Progress, but her very soul had vibrated 
with the descriptions of the celestial city — some- 
thing vague, bright, glorious, lying beyond some 
dark river; and Nabby’s rude account of what 
was going on in the church suggested those 
images. 

Finally a bright thought popped into her little 
head. She could see the church from the front 
windows of the house ; she would go there and 
look. In haste she sprang out of bed and dressed 
herself. It was sharp and freezing in the fire- 
less chamber, but Dolly’s blood had a racing, 
healthy tingle to it ; she didn’t mind cold. She 
wrapped her cloak around her and tied on her 
hood and ran to the front windows. There it 


DOLLY^S ADVENTURE, 


43 


was, to be sure — the little church with its sharp- 
pointed windows every pane of which was sending 
streams of light across the glittering snow. There 
was a crowd around the door, and men and boys 
looking in at the windows. Dolly’s soul was fired. 
But the elm-boughs a little obstructed her vision ; 
she thought she would go down and look at it 
from the yard. So down stairs she ran, but as 
she opened the door the sound of the chant rolled 
out into the darkness with a sweet and solemn 
sound : 

“ Glory be to God on high ; and on earth peace ^ 
good will towards men^ 

Dolly’s soul was all aglow — her nerves tingled 
and vibrated ; she thought of the bells ringing 
in the celestial city ; she could no longer contain 
herself, but faster and faster the little hooded 
form scudded across the snowy plain and pushed 
in among the dark cluster of spectators at the 
door. All made way for the child, and in a 
moment, whether in the body or out she could 
not tell, Dolly was sitting in a little nook under 
a bower of spruce, gazing at the star and lis- 
tening to the voices: 

We praise Thee^ we bless Thee^ we worship Thee^ 
we glorify Thee^ we give thanks to thee for thy 
great glory ^ O Lord God, Heavenly Kingj God, the 
Father Almighty ^ 

Her heart throbbed and beat; she trembled 


44 


DOLLY'S ADVENTURE, 


with a strange happiness and sat as one entranced 
till the music was over. Then came reading, 
the rustle and murmur of people kneeling, and 
then they all rose and there was the solemn 
buzz of voices repeating the Creed with a curious 
lulling sound to her ear. There was old Mr. 
Danforth with his spectacles on, reading with a 
pompous tone, as if to witness a good confession 
for the church ; and there was Squire Lewis 
and old Ma’am Lewis; and there was one place 
where they all bowed their heads and all the 
ladies made courtesies — all of which entertained 
her mightily. 

When the sermon began Dolly got fast asleep 
and slept as quietly as a pet lamb in a meadow, 
lying in a little warm roll back under the 
shadows of the spruces. She was so tired and 
so sound asleep that she did not wake when the 
service ended, lying serenely curled up, and hav- 
ing perhaps pleasant dreams. She might have 
had the fortunes of little Goody Two- Shoes, 
whose history was detailed in one of the few 
children’s books then printed, had not two friends 
united to find her out. 

Spring, who had got into the slip with the 
boys, and been an equally attentive and edified 
listener, after service began a tour of investiga- 
tion, dog-fashion, with his nose ; for how could 
a minister’s dog form a suitable judgment of any 


DOLLY'S ADVENTURE. 


45 


new procedure if he was repressed from the use 
of his own leading faculty? So, Spring went 
round the church conscientiously, smelling at 
pew-doors, smelling of the greens, smelling at the 
heels of gentlemen and ladies, till he came near 
the door of the church, when he suddenly smelt 
something which called for immediate attention, 
and he made a side dart into the thicket where 
Dolly was sleeping, and began licking her face 
and hands and pulling her dress, giving short 
barks occasionally, as if to say, “ Come, Dolly, 
wake up !” At the same instant Kiel, who 
had seen her from the gallery, came down just 
as the little one was sitting up with a dazed, 
bewildered air. 

“ Why, Dolly, how came you out o’ bed this 
time o’ night! Don’t ye know the nine o’clock 
bell’s jest rung?” 

Dolly knew Kiel well enough — what child in 
the village did not! She reached up her little 
hands saying in an apologetic fashion, 

“They were all gone away, and I was so 
lonesome !” 

Kiel took her up in his long arms and car- 
ried her home, and was just entering the house- 
door with .her as the sleigh drove up with Par- 
son Cushing and his wife. 

“ Wal, Parson, your folks has all ben to the 
’lumination — Nabby and Bill and Tom and Dolly 


DOLLY'S ADVENTURE. 


46 

here; found her all rolled up in a heap like a 
rabbit under the cedars.” 

“Why, Dolly Cu'^hing!” exclaimed her mother. 
“ What upon earth got you out of bed this time 
of night? You’ll catch your death o’ cold.” 

“I was all alone,” said Dolly, with a piteous 
bleat. 

“Oh, there, there, wife; don’t say a word,” 
put in the Parson. “Get her off to bed. Never 
mind, Dolly, don’t you cry;” for Parson Cush- 
ing was a soft-hearted gentleman and couldn’t 
bear the sight of Dolly’s quivering under lip. 
So Dolly told her little story, how she had been 
promised a sugar dog by Nabby if she’d be a 
good girl and go to sleep, and how she couldn’t 
go to sleep, and how she just went down to 
look from the yard, and how the music drew 
her right over. 

“ There, there,” said Parson Cushing, “ go to 
bed, Dolly ; and it Nabby don’t give you a sugar 
dog, I will. 

“ This Christmas dressing is ail nonsense,” he 
added, “but the child ’s not to blame — it was 
natural.” 

“ After all,” he said to his wife the last thing after 
they were settled for the night, “our little Dolly 
is an unusual child. There were not many little 
girls that would have dared to do that. I shall 
preach a sermon right away that will set all this 


DOLLirS ADVENTURE. 


47 


Christmas matter straight,” said the doctor. 
‘‘ There is not a shadow of evidence that the first 
Christians kept Christmas. It wasn’t kept for the 
first three centuries, nor was Christ born any- 
where near the 25th of December,” 


CHAPTER V. 
dolly’s first CHRISTMAS DAY. 



jlHE next morning found little Dolly 
blue eyes wide open with all the won- 
dering eagerness of a new idea. In 
those early times the life of childhood 
was much more in the imagination than now. 
Children were let alone, to think their own 
thoughts. There were no kindergartens to train 
the baby to play philosophically, and infuse a 
stealthy aroma of geometry and conic sections 
into the very toys of the nursery. Parents were 
not anxiously watching every dawning idea of 
the little mind to set it stra ght even before it 
was uttered; and there were then no newspapers 
or magazines with a special corner for the bright 
sayings of children. 

Not that children were any less beloved, or 
motherhood a less holy thing. There were many 
women of de^p hearts, who, like the most 
blessed among women,” kept all the sayings of 
their darlings and pondered them in their hearts; 
but it was not deemed edifying or useful to pay 
48 


DOLLY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY. 


49 


much apparent attention to these utterances and 
actions of the youthful pilgrim. 

Children’s inquiries were freely put off with 
the general answer that Mamma was busy and 
they must not talk — that when they were grown 
up they would know all about these things, etc. ; 
and so they lived apart from older people in 
their own little child-world of uninvaded ideas. 

Dolly, therefore, had her wise thoughts about 
Christmas. She had been terribly frightened at 
first, when she was brought home from the 
church ; but when her papa kissed her and 
promised her a sugar dog she was quite sure 
that, whatever the unexplained mystery might 
be, he did not think the lovely scene of the night 
before a wicked one. And when Mrs. Cushing 
came and covered the little girl up warmly in 
bed, she only said to her, Dolly, you must never 
get out of bed again at night after you are put 
there ; you might have caught a dreadful cold 
and been sick and died, and then we should have 
lost our little Dolly.” So Dolly promised quite 
readily to be good and lie still ever after, no 
matter what attractions might be on foot in the 
community. 

Much was gained, however, and it was all clear 
gain; and forthwith the little fanciful head pro- 
ceeded to make the most of it, thinking over 
every feature of the wonder. The child had a 


50 DOLLY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY, 

vibrating, musical organization, and the sway and 
rush of the chanting still sounded in her ears 
and reminded her of that wonderful story in the 
Pilgrim’s Progress,” where the gate of the 
celestial city swung open, and there were voices 
that sung, “ Blessing and honor and glory and 
power be unto Him who sitteth on the throne.” 
And then that wonderful star, that shone just 
as if it were a real star — how could it be ! For 
Miss Ida Lewis, being a young lady of native 
artistic genius, had cut a little hole in the center 
of her gilt paper star, behind which was placed 
a candle, so that it gave real light, in a way most 
astonishing to untaught eyes. In Dolly’s simple 
view it verged on the supernatural — perhaps it 
was tke very real star read about in the gospel 
story. Why not ? Dolly was at the happy age 
when anything bright and heavenly seemed cred- 
ible, and had the child-faith to which all things 
were possible. She had even seriously pondered 
at times the feasibility of walking some day to 
the end of the rainbow to look for the pot of 
gold which Nabby had credibly assured her was 
to be found there; and if at any time in her 
ramblings through the wood a wolf had met her 
and opened a conversation, as in the case of 
little Red Riding Hood, she would have been 
no way surprised, but kept up her part of the 
interview with becoming spirit. 


DOLLY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY, 


51 


I wish, my dear,” said Mrs. Cushing, after 
they were retired to their room for the night, 
that to-morrow morning you would read the 
account of the birth of Christ in St. Matthew, 
and give the children some good advice upon 
the proper way of keeping Christmas.” 

“ Well, but you know we don’t keep Christmas, 
nobody knows anything about Christmas,” said 
the Doctor. 

“You know what I mean, my dear,” replied 
his wife. “You know that my mother and her 
family do keep Christmas. I always heard of it 
when I was a child ; and even now, though I 
have been out of the way of it so long, I cannot 
help a sort of kindly feeling towards these ways. 
I am not surprised at all that the children got 
drawn over last night to the service. I think 
it’s the most natural thing in the world, ^nd I 
know by experience just how attractive such 
things are. I shouldn’t wonder if this Episcopal 
church should draw very seriously on your con- 
gregation ; but I don’t want it to begin by taking 
away our own children. Dolly is an inquisitive 
child ; a child that thinks a good deal, and she’ll, 
be asking all sorts of questions about the why 
and wherefore of what she saw last night.” 

“Oh, yes, Dolly is a bright one. Dolly’s an 
uncommon child,” said the Doctor, who had a 
pardonable pride in his children — they being, in 


52 DOLLY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY. 

fact, the only worldly treasure that he was at all 
rich in. 

“And as to that little dress-up affair over 
there,” he continued, “ I don’t think any real 
harm has been done as yet. I have my eyes 
open. 1 know all about it, and I shall straighten 
out this whole matter next Sunday,” he said, with 
the comfortable certainty of a man in the habit 
of carrying his points. 

“ I don’t feel so very sure of that,” said his 
wife ; “ at the same time I shouldn’t want any- 
thing like an open attack on the Episcopalians. 
There are sincere good people of that way of 
thinking — my mother, for instance, is a saint on 
earth, and so is good old Madam Lewis. So pray 
be careful what you say.” 

“My dear, I haven’t the least objection to 
their dressing their church and having a good 
Christian service any day in the year if they 
want to, but our people may just as well under- 
stand our own ground. I know that the Demo- 
crats are behind this new move, and they are 
just using this church to carry their own party 
purposes — to break up the standing order and 
put down all the laws that are left to protect 
religion and morals. They want to upset every- 
thing that our fathers came to New England to 
establish. But I’m going to head this thing ofi 


DOLLY^S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY. 


53 

in Poganuc. I shall write a sermon to-morrow, 
and settle matters.” 

Now, there is no religious organization in the 
world in its genius and history less likely to 
assimilate with a democratic movement than the 
Episcopal Church. It is essentially aristocratic 
in form, and, in New England, as we have already 
noticed, had always been on the side of mo- 
narchical institutions. 

But, just at this point in the history of New 
England affairs, all the minor denominations were 
ready to join any party that promised to break 
the supremacy of the State Church and give 
them a foothold. 

It was the “ Democratic party” of that day 
tha.t broke up the exclusive laws in favor of the 
Congregational Church and consequently gained 
large accessions to their own standard. To use 
a brief phrase, all the outs were Democrats, and 
all the ins Federalists. But the Democratic 
party had, as always, its radical train. Not satis- 
fied with wresting the scepter from the hands of 
the Congregational clergyman, and giving equal 
rights and a fair field to other denominations, 
the cry was now to abolish all laws in any way 
protective of religious institutions, or restrictive 
of the fullest personal individualism ; in short, 
the cry was for the liberty of every man to go 
to church or not, to keep the Sabbath or not, to 


54 


DOLL Y'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DA Y, 

support a minister or not, as seemed good and 
proper in his own eyes. 

This wa^ in fact the final outcome of things 
in New England, and experience has demon- 
strated that this wide and perfect freedom is the 
best way of preserving religion and morals. But 
it was not given to a clergyman in the day of 
Dr. Cushing, who had hitherto felt that a state 
ought to be like a well-governed school, under 
the minister for schoolmaster, to look on the 
movements of the Democratic party otherwise 
than as tending to destruction and anarchy. This 
new movement in the Episcopal Church he re- 
garded as but a device by appeals to the senses — 
by scenic effects, illuminations and music — to draw 
people off to an unspiritual and superficial form 
of religion, which, having once been the tool of 
monarchy and aristocracy, had now fallen into 
the hands of the far more dangerous democracy ; 
and he determined to set the trumpet to his 
mouth on the following Sabbath, and warn the 
watchmen on the walls of Zion. 

He rose up early, however, and proceeded to 
buy a sugar dog at the store of Lucius Jenks, 
and when Dolly came down to breakfast he 
called her to him and presented it, saying as he 
kissed her, 

“ Papa gives you this, not because it is Christ- 
mas, but because he loves his little Dolly.” 


DOLLY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY. 55 

But isn't it Christmas?” asked Dolly, with 
a puzzled air. 

“ No, child ; nobody knows when Christ was 
born, and there is nothing in the Bible to tell us 
wAen to keep Christmas.” 

And then in family worship the doctor read 
the account of the birth of Christ and of the 
shepherds abiding in the fields who came at the 
call of the angels, and they sung the old hymn : 

“While shepherds watched their flocks by night.” 


“ Now, children,” he said when all was over, 
‘‘you must be good children and go to school. 
If we are going to keep any day on account 
of the birth of Christ, the best way to keep it 
is by doing all our duties on that day better than 
any other. Your duty is to be good children, 
go to school and mind your lessons.” 

Tom and Bill, who had been at the show the 
evening before and exhausted the capabilities 
of the scenic effects, were quite ready to fall in 
with their father’s view of the matter. The can- 
dles were burnt out, the play over, for them, and 
forthwith they assumed to look down on the 
whole with the contempt of superior intelligence. 
As for Dolly, she put her little tongue advis- 
edly to the back of her sugar dog and found 
that he was very sweet indeed — a most tempt- 


56 


DOLLY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY. 


ing little animal. She even went so far as 
to nibble off a bit of the green ground he 
stood on — yet resolved heroically not to eat 
him at once, but to make him last as long as 
possible. She wrapped him tenderly in cotton 
and took him to the school with her, and when 
her confidential friend, Bessie Lewis, displayed 
her Christmas gifts, Dolly had something on her 
side to show, though she shook her curly head 
wisely and informed Bessie in strict confidence 
that there wasn’t any such thing as Christmas, 
her papa had told her so — a heresy which Bessie 
forthwith reported when she went home at noon. 

Poor little Presbyterian — and did she say so?” 
asked gentle old Grandmamma Lewis. “Well, 
dear, you mustn’t blame her — she don’t know 
any better. You bring the little thing in here 
to-night and Pll give her a Christmas cookey. 
I’m sorry for such children.” 

And so, after school, Dolly went in to see 
dear old Madam Lewis, who sat in her rocking- 
chair in the front parlor, where the fire was 
snapping behind great tall brass andirons and 
all the pictures were overshadowed with boughs 
of spruce and pine. Dolly gazed about her with 
awe and wonder. Over one of the pictures was 
suspended a cross of green vdth flowers of 
white everlasting. 

“What is that for?” asked Dolly, pointing sol- 


DOLLY^S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY, 


5 ) 

emnly with her little forefinger, and speaking 
under her breath. 

Dear child, that is the picture of my poor 
boy who died — ever so many years ago. That 
is my cross — we have all one — to carry.’’ 

Dolly did not half understand these words, 
but she saw tears in the gentle old lady’s eyes 
and was afraid to ask more. 

She accepted thankfully and with her nicest 
and best executed courtesy a Christmas cookey 
representing a good-sized fish, with tins all spread 
and pink sugar-plums for eyes, and went home 
marveling yet more about this mystery of Christ- 
mas. 

As she was crossing the green to go home 
the Poganuc stage drove in, with Kiel seated 
on high, whipping up his horses to make them 
execute that grand enMe which was the glory 
of his daily existence. 

Now that the stage was on runners, and 
slipped noiselessly over the smooth frozen plain, 
Kiel cracked his whip more energetically and 
shouted louder, first to one horse and then to 
another, to make up for the loss of the rattling 
wheels; and he generally had the satisfaction 
of seeing all the women rushing distractedly to 
doors and windows, and imagined them saying, 
“There’s Hiel; the stage is in!” 

“ Flulloa, Dolly 1” he called out, drawing up 


DOLLY’S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY. 


58 

with a suddenness which threw the fore-horses 
back upon their haunches. “ I’ve got a bundle 
for your folks. Want to ride? You may jest 
jump up here by me and I’ll take you ’round to 
your father’s door;” and so Dolly reached up 
her little red-mittened hand, and Kiel drew her 
up beside him. 

“ ’Xpect ye want a bit of a ride, and I’ve got 
a bundle for Widder Badger, down on South 
Street, so I guess I’ll go ’round that way to 
make it longer. I ’xpect this ’ere bundle is from 
some of your ma’s folks in Boston — ’Piscopals 
they be, and keeps Christmas. Good sized bun- 
dle ’tis; reckon it ’ll come handy in a good 
many ways.” 

So, after finishing his detour, Kiel landed his 
little charge at the parsonage door. 

“ Reckon I’ll be over when I’ve put up my 
bosses,” he said to Nabby when he handed down 
the bundle to her. “ I hain’t been to see ye 
much lately, Nabby, and I know you’ve been a 
pinin’ after me, but fact is — ” 

“Well, now, Kiel Jones, you jest shet up with 
your imperence,” said Nabby, with flashing eyes; 
“you jest look out or you’ll get suthin.” 

“ I ’xpect to get a kiss when I come round 
to-night,” said Kiel, composedly. “Take care 
0’ that air bundle, now ; mebbe there ’s glass 
or crockery in ’t.” 


59 


DOLLY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY. 

“Kiel Jones,” said Nabby, “don’t give me 
none o’ your saace, for I won’t take it. Jim 
Sawin said last night you was the brassiest man 
he ever see. He said there was brass enough 
in your face to make a kettle of.” 

“You tell him there’s sap enough in his head 
to fill it, any way,” said Hiel. “ Good bye, 
Nabby, I ’ll come ’round this evenin’,” and he 
drove away at a rattling pace, while Nabby, with 
flushed cheeks and snapping eyes, soliloquized, 

“Well, I hope he will come! I ’d jest like a 
chance to show him how little I care for him.” 

Meanwhile the bundle was soon opened, and 
contained a store of treasures: a smart little 
red dress and a pair of red shoes for Dolly, a 
half dozen pocket-handkerchiefs for Dr. Cushing, 
and “ Robinson Crusoe ” and “ Sanford and Mer- 
ton,” handsomely bound, for the boys, and a bon- 
net trimming for Mrs. Cushing. These were ac- 
companied by a characteristic letter from Aunt 
Debby Kittery, opening as follows: 

“ Dear Sister : 

“ Mother worries because she thinks you Presby- 
terians won’t get any Christmas presents. I tell her 
it serves you right for being out of the true church. 
However, this comes to give every one of you some of 
the crumbs which fall from the church’s table, and 
Mother says she wishes you all a pious Christmas, which 
she thinks is better than a merry one. If I did n’t lay 
violent hands on her she would use all our substance 


6o 


DOLLY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY. 


in riotous giving of Christmas presents to all the beggars 
and chimney sweeps in Boston. She is in good health 
and talks daily of wanting to see you and the children ; 
and 1 hope before long you will bring some of them, and 
come and make us a visit. 

“Your affectionate sister, 

“ Debby Kittery.” 

There was a scene of exultation and clamor 
in the parsonage as these presents were pulled 
out and discussed ; and when all possible joy was 
procured from them in the sitting-room, the chil- 
dren rushed in a body into the kitchen and 
showed them to Nabby, calling on her to join 
their acclamations. 

And then in the evening Kiel came in, and 
Nabby prosecuted her attacks upon him with 
great vigor and severity, actually carrying mat- 
ters to such a length that she was obliged, as a 
matter of pure Christian charity, to “kiss and 
make up ” with him at the end of the evening. 
Of course Hiel took away an accurate inven- 
tor3r of every article in the bundle, for the enlight- 
enment of any of his particular female friends 
who had a curiosity to know “ what Mis’ Cushin’s 
folks sent her in that air bundle from Boston.” 

On the whole, when Dolly had said her prayers 
that night and thought the matter over, she 
concluded that her Christmas Day had been 
quite a success. 


CHAPTER VT. 

VILLAGE POLITICIANS. 



|E have traced our little Dolly’s for- 
tunes, haps and havings through 
Christmas day, but we should not do 
justice to the situation did we not 
throw some light on the views and opinions of 
the Poganuc people upon this occasion. 

The Episcopal church had been newly finished. 
There was held on this day, for the first time in 
open daylight, the full Christmas Service. The 
illumination and services of the evening before 
had been skillfully designed to make an impres 
sion on the popular mind, and to draw in children 
ind young people with all that floating populace 
who might be desirous of seeing or hearing some 
new things. 

It had been a success. Such an audience had 
been drawn and such a sensation produced that 
on Christmas day everybody in the village was 
talking of the church ; and those who did not 
go ran to the windows to see who did go. A 
week-day church service other than a fast, and 


52 VILLAGE POLITICIANS. 

thanksgiving, and “preparatory lecture” was a 
striking novelty; and when the little bell rang 
out its peal and the congregation began to 
assemble it was watched with curious eyes from 
many a house. 

The day was a glorious one. The bright, cold 
sun made the icicles that adorned the fronts of 
all the houses glitter like the gems of Aladdin’s 
palace, and a well-dressed company were seen 
coming up from various points of the village and 
thronging the portals of the church. 

The little choir and their new organ rang out 
the Te Deum with hearty good-will, and many 
ears for the first time heard that glorious old 
heroic poem of the early church. The waves of 
sound rolled across the green and smote on the 
unresponsive double row of windows of the old 
meeting-house, which seemed to stare back with 
a gaze of blank astonishment. The sound even 
floated into the store of Deacon Dickenson, and 
caused some of the hard-handed old farmers who 
were doing their trading there, with their sleds 
and loads of wood, to stop their discourse on 
turnips, eggs and apple-sauce, and listen. To 
them it bore the sound as of a challenge, the 
battle-cry of an opposing host that was rising 
up to dispute the ground with them ; and so 
they listened with combative ears. 

“ Seem to be a hevin’ it all their own wajiT 


VILLAGE POLITICIANS. 


63 

over there, them Tiscopals. Carry in’ all before 
’em,” said one. 

“ How they are a gettin’ on !” said another. 

^^Yes,” said Deacon Dickenson; “all the Demo- 
crats are j’inin’ them, and goin’ to make a gen’l 
push next ’lection. They’re goin’ clean agin 
everything— Sunday laws and tiding-man and all.” 

“Wal,” said Deacon Peasley, a meek, mourn- 
ful little man, with a bald top to his head, “ the 
Democrats are goin’ to carry the state. I feel 
sure on ’t.” 

“Good reason,” said Tim Hawkins, a stout 
two-fisted farmer from one of the outlying farms. 
“ The Democrats beat ’cause they’re allers up and 
dressed, and we Fed’lists ain’t. Why, look at ’em 
to town meetin’ ! Democrats allers on time, 
every soul on ’em — rag, tag and bobtail — rain or 
shine don’t make no difference with them ; but 
it takes a yoke of oxen to get a Fed’list out, 
and when you’ve got him you’ve got to set down 
on him to keep him. That’s just the diffrence.” 

“Wal,” said Deacon Peasley in a thin, queru- 
lous voice, “all this ’ere comes of extending the 
suffrage. Why, Father says that when he was a 
young man there couldn’t nobody vote but good 
church members in regular standin’, and couldn’t 
nobody but them be elected to office. Now it’s 
just as you say, ‘ rag, tag and bobtail’ can vote, 
and you’ll see they’ll break up all our institutions. 


VILLAGE POLITICIANS, 


64 

They’ve got it so now that folks can sign oT and 
go to meetin’ anywhere, and next they’ll get it 
so they needn’t go nowhere — thats what 11 come 
next. There’s a lot of our young folks ben a 
goin’ to this ’ere ’lumination.” 

“Wal, I told Parson Cushing about that air 
’lumination last night,” said Deacon Dickenson, 
‘‘and he didn’t seem to mind it. But I tell 
you he’ll hev to mind. Both his boys there, 
and little Dolly, too, runnin’ over there after she 
was put to bed ; he’ll hev to do somethin to 
head this ’ere off.” 

He’ll do it, too,” said Tim Hawkins. “ Par- 
son Cushing knows what he’s about, and he’ll 
come out with a sarmon next Sunday, you see 
if he don’t. There’s more in Parson Cushing’s 
little finger than there is in that Sim Coan’s hull 
body, if he did come right straight down from 
the ’Postles. 

“ I’ve heard,” said Deacon Peasley, that Mis’ 
Cushing’s folks in Boston was ’Piscopal, and 
some thought mebbe she influenced the children.” 

“Oh, wal. Mis’ Cushing, she did come from 
a ’Piscopal family,” said Deacon Dickenson. “She 
was a Kittery, and her gran’ther, Israel Kittery, 
was a tory in the war. Her folks used to go 
to the old North in Boston, and they didn’t like 
her marryin’ Parson Cushing a grain ; but when 
she married him, why, she did marry him. She 


VILLAGE POLITICIANS. 


65 

married his work, and married all his pinions. 
And nobody can say she hain’t been a good yoke- 
fellow; she’s kept up her end, Mis’ Cushing has. 
No, there’s nobody ought to say nothin’ agin 
Mis’ Cushing.” 

*‘Wal, I s’pose we shall hear from the doctor 
next Sunday,” said Hawkins. “He’ll speak out; 
his trumpet won’t give an unsartin sound.” 

“ I reely want ter know,” said Deacon Peasley, 
“ ef Zeph Higgins has reely come down with 
his folks to-day y givin’ up a hull day’s work! I 
shouldn’t ’a’ thought Zeph’d ’a’ done that for 
any meetin’.” 

“Oh, laws, yis; Zeph ’ll do anything he sets 
his will on, particular if it’s suthin’ Mis’ Higgins 
don’t want to do — then Zeph ’ll do it, sartin. I 
kind o’ pity that air woman,” said Hawkins. 

“ Oh, yis,” said the deacon ; “ poor Mis’ Hig- 
gins, she come to my wife reely mournin’ when 
Zeph cut up so about them water-pipes, and 
says she, ^Mis’ Dickenson, I’d rather ’a’ worked 
my fingers to the bone than this ’ere should ’a’ 
happened ; but I can’t do nothin’,’ says she ; 
^he’s that sort that the more you say the more 
sot he gets,’ says she. Wal, I don’t wish the 
’Piscopals no worse luck than to get Zeph Hig- 
gins, that’s all I’ve got to say.” 

“ Wal,” said Tim Hawkins, “ let ’em alone. 
Guess they’ll find out what he is when they 


66 


VILLAGE POLITICIANS. 


come to pass the hat ’round. I expect keepin’ 
up that air meetin’ ’ll be drefful hard sleddin’ yit — 
and they won’t get nothin’ out o’ Zeph. Zeph’s 
as tight as the bark of a tree.” 

‘‘Wonder if that air buildin’s paid fer? Kiel 
Jones says there’s a consid’able debt on’t yit,” 
said Deacon Peasley, “and Hiel gen’ally knows.” 

“ Don’t doubt on’t,” said Deacon Dickenson. 
“ Squire Lewis he’s in for the biggest part on’t, 
and he’s got money through his wife. She was 
one of them rich Winthrops up to Boston. The 
squire has gone off now to Lucius Jenks’s store, 
and so has Colonel Danforth and a lot more of 
the biggest on ’em. I told Hiel I didn’t mind, 
so long as I kep’ Colonel Davenport and Judge 
Belcher and Judge Peters and Sheriff Dennie. 
I have a good many more aristocracy than he 
hez.” 

“For my part I don’t care so very much for 
these ’ere town-hill aristocracy,” said Tim Haw- 
kins. “They live here in their gret houses and 
are so proud they think it’s a favor to speak to 
a farmer in his blue linsey shirt a drivin’ his 
team. I don’t want none on ’em lookin’ down 
on me. I am as good as they be ; and I guess you 
make as much in your trade by the farmers 
out on the hills as you do by the rich folks here 
in town.” 

“ Oh, yis, sartin,” said Deacon Dickenson, 





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VILLAGE POLITICIANS. 6y 

making haste to propitiate. ‘‘ I don’t want no 
better trade than I get out your way, Mr. 
Hawkins. I ’d rather see your sled a standin’ 
front o’ my door than the finest carriage any of 
’em drives. I haint forgot Parson Cushing’s 
sarmon to the farmers, ‘ The king himself is 
sarved by the field.’” 

‘‘ I tell you that was a sarmon !” said Hawkins 
“We folks in our neighborhood all subscribed 
to get it printed, and I read it over once a 
month, Sundays. Parson Cushing ’s a good 
farmer himself. He can turn in and plow or 
hoe or mow, and do as good a day’s work as I 
can, if he does know Latin and Greek; and he 
and Mis’ Cushing they come over and visit 
’round ’mong us quite as sociable as with them 
town-hill folks. I ’m jest a waitin’ to hear him 
give it to them air ’Piscopals next Sunday. He ’ll 
sarve out the Democrats— the doctor will.” 

“ Wal,” said Deacon Dickenson, “I don’t think 
the doctor hed reely got waked up when I spoke 
to him ’bout that ’lamination, but I guess his 
eyes are open now, and the doctor ’s one o’ that 
sort that’s wide awake when he is awake. He ’ll 
do suthin’ o’ Sunday.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE doctor’s sermon. 


OGANUC was a pretty mountain town 
in Connecticut. It was a county seat, 
and therefore of some considerable im- 
portance in the vicinity. It boasted 
its share of public buildings — the great meeting- 
house that occupied the central position of the 
village green, the tavern where the weekly stage 
put up, a court-house, a jail, and other defenses 
of public morals, besides the recently added 
Episcopal church. 

It was also the residence of some stately and 
dignified families of comfortable means and tra- 
ditions of ancestral importance. Of these, as 
before stated, a few had availed themselves of 
the loosening of old bonds and founded an Epis- 
copal church ; but it must not be supposed that 
there was any lack of dignified and wealthy old 
families in the primitive historic church of Poga- 
nuc, which had so long borne undisputed sway 
in the vicinity. There were the fine old resi- 
dences of Judge Gridley and Judge Belcher 

adorning the principal streets. Conspicuous in 
68 





THE DOCTOR'S SERMON, 


69 

one of the front pews of the meeting-house might 
be seen every Sunday the stately form of Col. 
Davenport, who had been a confidential friend 
of General Washington and an active commander 
during the revolutionary war, and who inspired 
awe among the townspeople by his military ante- 
cedents. There might be seen, too, the Governor 
of the State and the High Sheriff of Poganuc 
County, with one Mr. Israel Deyter, a retired 
New York merchant, gifted, in popular belief, with 
great riches. In short, the meeting-house, for a 
country town, had no small amount of wealth, im- 
portance and gentility. Besides these residents, 
who encamped about the green and on the main 
street, was an outlying farming population ex- 
tending for miles around, whose wagons con- 
veying their well-dressed wives, stalwart sons 
and blooming daughters poured in from all 
quarters, punctual as a clock to the ringing of 
the second bell every Sunday morning. 

Not the least attentive listeners or shrewd 
critics were to be found in these hardy yeomanry 
w^ho scanned severely all that they paid for, 
whether temporal or spiritual. As may have been 
noticed from the conversation at Deacon Dicken- 
son’s store. Dr. Cushing had rather a delicate rdle 
to maintain in holding in unity the aristocracy and 
the democracy of his parish ; for in those days peo- 
ple of well-born, well-bred families had a certain 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMON. 


70 

traditional stateliness and punctiliousness which 
were apt to be considered as pride by the laboring 
democracy, and the doctor, as might be expected, 
found it often more difficult to combat pride in 
homespun than pride in velvet— perhaps having 
no very brilliant success in either case. 

The next Sunday was one of high expectation. 
Everybody was on tiptoe to hear what '‘our 
minister” would have to say. 

The meeting-house of Poganuc was one of 
those square, bald, unsentimental structures of 
which but few specimens have come down to 
us from old times. The pattern of those ancient 
edifices was said to be derived from Holland, 
where the Puritans were sheltered before they 
came to these shores. At all events, they were 
a marked departure in every respect from all 
particulars which might remind one of the grace- 
ful ecclesiastical architecture and custom*^ of the 
Church of England. They were wide, roomy, 
and of a desolate plainness ; hot and sunny in 
summer, with their staring rows of windows, and 
in winter cold enough in some cases even to 
freeze the eucharistic wine at the communion. 

It was with great conflict of opinion and much 
difficulty that the people of Poganuc had advanced 
so far in the ways of modern improvement as to 
be willing to have a large box stove set up in 
the middle of the broad aisle, with a length of 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMON, 


71 


black pipe extending through the house, v/hereby 
the severity of winter sanctuary periormances 
should be somewhat abated. It is on record 
that, when the proposal v»ras made in town meet- 
ing to introduce this luxurious indulgence, the 
zeal of old Zeph Higgins was aroused, and he 
rose and gave vent to his feelings in a protest : 

“Fire? Fire? A fire in the house o' God? 
I never heard on’t. I never heard o’ hcvin’ fire 
in a meetin’-house.” 

Sheriff Dennie here rose, and inquired whether 
Mrs, Higgins did not bring a foot-stove with fire 
in it into the house of God every Sunday. 

It was an undeniable fact that not only Mrs. 
Higgins but every respectable matron and mother 
of a family brought her foot-stove to church well 
filled with good, solid, hickory coals, and that 
the passing of this little ark of mercy from one 
frozen pair of feet to another Avas among the 
silent motherly ministries which varied the hours 
of service. 

So the precedent of the foot-stove carried the 
box-stove into the broad aisle of the meeting- 
house, whereby the air was so moderated that 
the minister’s breath did not freeze into visible 
clouds of vapor while speaking, and the beards 
and whiskers of the brethren were no longer 
coated with frost during service time. 

Yet Poganuc was a place where winter stood 


72 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMON. 


for something. The hill, like all hills in our dear 
New England, though beautiful for situation in 
summer was a howling desolation for about six 
months of the year, sealed down under snow and 
drifted over by winds that pierced like knives 
and seemed to search every liber of one’s gar- 
ments, so that the thickest clothing was no pro- 
tection. 

The Sunday in question \vas one of those many 
when the thermometer stood any number of de- 
degrees below zero ; the air clear, keen and cut- 
ting ; and the bright, blooming faces of the girls 
in the singers’ seat bore token of the frosty wind 
they had encountered. All was animation through 
the church, and Mr. Benjamin Davis, the leader 
of the singing, had selected old “ Denmark ” as a 
proper tune for opening the parallels between 
them and the opposing forces of ritualism. Ben 
had a high conceit of his own vocal powers, and 
had been heard to express himself contemptu- 
ously of the new Episcopal organ. He had been 
to Doctor Cushing with suggestions as to the 
tunes that the singers wanted, to keep up the 
reputation of their “ meetin’-house.” So after 
‘•Denmark” came old “Majesty,” and Ben so 
bestirred himself beating time and roaring, first 
to treble and then to counter and then to bass, 
and all the singers poured forth their voices with 
such ringing good-will, that everybody felt sure 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMON, 


73 


they were better than any Episcopal organ in the 
world. 

And as there is a place for all things in this 
great world of ours, so there was in its time 
and day a place and a style for Puritan music. 
If there were pathos and power and solemn 
splendor in the rhythmic movement of the church- 
ly chants, there was a grand wild freedom, an 
energy of motion, in the old “fuguing” tunes 
of that day that well expressed the heart of a 
people courageous in combat and unshaken in 
endurance. The church chant is like the meas- 
ured motion of the mighty sea in calm weather, 
but those old fuguing tunes were like that same 
ocean aroused by stormy winds, when deep 
calleth unto deep in tempestuous confusion, out 
of which at last is evolved union and harmony. 
It was a music suggestive of the strife, the com- 
motion, the battle cries of a transition period of 
society, struggling onward toward dimly-seen 
ideals of peace and order. Whatever the trained 
musician might say of such a tune as old 
“ Majesty,” no person of imagination and sensi- 
bility could ' ever hear it well rendered b)^ a 
large choir wdchout deep emotion. And when 
back and forth from every side of the church 
came the different parts shouting, 

“On cherubim and seraphim 
Full royally he rode, 


74 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMON. 


' . And on the wings of mighty winds 

Came flying all abroad” — 

there went a stir and a thrill through many a 
stern and hard nature, until the tempest cleared 
off in the words, 

“ He sat serene upon the floods, 

Their fury to restrain, 

And he, as sovereign Lord and King, 

Forever more shall reign.” 

And when the doctor rose to his sermon the 
music had done its work on his audience, in 
exalting their mood to listen with sympathetic 
ears to whatever he might have to say. 

When he spread out his sermon before him 
there was a rustle all over the house, as of 
people composing themselves to give the strictest 
attention. 

He announced his text from Galatians iv., 
9, 10, II. 

“But now, after that ye have known God, or rather are known 
of God," how tui'n ye again to the weak and beggarly elements, 
whereunto ye desire again to be in bondage? Ye observe days, 
and months, and times, and years. I am afraid of you, lest I 
have bestowed on you labor in vain.” .... 

. The very ..announcement of the text seemed 
to bring out upon the listening faces of the 
audience a sympathetic gleam. Hard, weather- 
beaten countenances showed it, as when a sun- 
beam passes over points of rocks. 

What was to come of such a text was plain 
to be seen. The yoke of bondage from which 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMOxV. 


75 


Puritan New England had escaped across the 
waters of a stormy sea, the liberty in Christ 
which they had won in this new untrodden land, 
made theirs by prayers and toils and tears and 
sacrifice, for which they had just fought through 
a tedious and bloody war — there was enough in 
all these remembrances to evoke a strain of 
heartfelt eloquence which would awaken a re- 
sponse in every heart. 

Then the doctor began his investigations of 
Christmas; and here his sermon bristled with 
quotations in good Greek and Latin, which he 
could not deny himself the pleasure of quoting 
in the original as well as in the translation. But 
the triumphant point in his argument was founded 
on a passage in Clemens Alexandrinus, who, 
writiiir; at the close of the second century, speaks 
of the date of Christ’s birth as an unimportant 
and unsettled point. “ There are some,” says the 
Father, “ who over-curiously assign not only the 
year but the day of our Saviour’s birth, which 
they say was the 25th of Pachon, or the 20th of 
May.” 

The doctor had exulted in the finding of this 
passage as one that findeth much spoil, and he 
proceeded to make the most of it in showing 
that the modern keeping of Christmas was so 
far unknown in the earliest ages of the church 
that even the day was a matter of uncertainty. 


76 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMON. 


Now it is true that his audience, more than 
half of them, did not know who Clement was. 
Even the judges, men of culture and learning, 
and the teacher at the Academy, professionally 
familiar with Greek, had only the vaguest re- 
collection of a Christian Father who had lived 
some time in the primitive ages; the rest of the 
congregation, men and women, only knew that 
their minister was a learned man and were 
triumphant at this new proof of it. 

The doctor used his point so as to make it 
skillfully exciting to the strong, practical, matter- 
of-fact element which underlies New England 
life. “If it had been important for us to keep 
Christmas,” he said, “certainly the date would 
not have been left in uncertainty. We find no 
traces in the New Testament of any such ob- 
servance; we never read of Christmas as kept 
by the apostles and their followers ; and it ap- 
pears that it was some centuries after Christ 
before such an observance was heard of at all.’’ 
In fact the doctor said that the keeping of the 
25th of December as Christmas did not obtain 
till after the fourth century, and then it was 
appointed to take the place of an old heathen 
festival, the natalis solis invicti\' and here 
the doctor rained down names and authori- 
ties and quotations establishing conflicting sup- 
positions till the wilderness of learning grew so 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMON. 


77 


Wild that only the Academy teacher seemed able 
to follow it through. He indeed sat up and 
nodded intelligently from point to point, feeling 
that the eyes of scholars might be upon him, 
and that it was well never to be caught napping 
in matters like these. 

The last point of the Doctor’s sermon consisted 
in historical statements and quotations concern- 
ing the various abuses to which the celebration 
of the Christmas festival had given rise, from the 
days of Augustine and Chrysostom down to 
those of the Charleses and Jameses of England, 
in ail of which he had free course and was .^rlori- 
fied ; since under that head there are many things 
more true than edifying that might be recounted. 

He alluded to the persecutions which had 
forced upon our fathers the alternative of con- 
forming to burdensome and unspiritual rites and 
ceremonies or of flying from their native land 
and all they held dear ; he quoted from St. Paul 
the passage about false brethren who came in 
privily to spy out our liberty that we have in 
Christ Jesus, that they might bring us again into 
bondage — “to whom ” (and here the doctor grew 
emphatic and thumped the pulpit cushion) “ we 
gave place by subjection not for an hour'' 

The sermon ended with a stirring appeal to 
walk in the good old ways, to resist all those, 
however fair their pretenses, who sought to re- 


78 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMON. 


move the old landmarks and repeal the just laws 
and rules that had come down from the fathers. 
It was evident frv^m the enkindled faces in every 
pew that the doctor carried his audience fully 
with him, and when in the closing petition he 
prayed to the Lord that “our judges might be 
as at the first, and our counsellors as at the be- 
ginning,” everybody felt sure that he was think- 
ing of the next election, and Tim Hawkins with 
difficulty restrained himself from giving a poke 
of the elbow to a neighbor in the next pew sus- 
pected of Democratic proclivities. 

As to Dolly, Avho as a babe of grace was duly 
brought to church every Sunday, her meditations 
were of a very confused order. Since the gift 
of her red dress and red shoes, and the well re- 
membered delightful scene at the church on 
Christmas Eve, Christmas had been an interesting 
and beautiful mystery to her mind ; a sort of 
illuminated mist, now appearing and now dis- 
appearing. 

Sometimes when her father in his sermon pro- 
nounced the word “Christmas” in emphatic 
tones, she fixed her great blue eyes seriously 
upon him and wondered what he could be say- 
ing; but when Greek and Latin quotations began 
to rain thick and fast she turned to Spring, who 
as a good, well-trained minister’s dog was allowed 
to go to meeting with his betters, and whose 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMON. 


79 


serious and edified air was a pattern to Dolly 
and the boys. 

When she was cold — a very common experi- 
ence in those windy pews — she nestled close to 
Spring and put her arms around his neck, and 
sometimes dropped asleep on his back. Those 
sanctuary naps were a generally accorded privi- 
lege to the babes of the church, who could not 
be expected to digest the strong meat of the 
elders. 

Dolly had one comfort of which nothing could 
deprive her: she had been allowed to wear 
her new red dress and red shoes. It is true 
the dress was covered up under a dark, stout 
little woolen coat, and the red shoes quenched 
in the shade of a pair of socks designed to protect 
her feet from freezing; but at intervals Dolly 
pulled open her little coat and looked at the 
red dress, and felt warmer for it, and thought 
whether there was any such day as Christmas 
or not it was a nice thing for little girls to have 
aunties and grandmas who believed in it, and 
sent them pretty things in consequence. 

When the audience broke up and the doctor 
came down from the pulpit he was congratulated 
on his sermon as a master-piece. Indeed, he had 
the success that a man has always when he 
proves to an audience that they are in the right 
in their previous opin ons. 


8o 


THE DOCTOR'S SERMON. 


The general opinion, from Colonel Davenport 
and Sheriff Dennie down to Tim Hawkins and 
the farmers of the vicinity, was that the doctor’s 
sermon ought to be printed by subscription, and 
the suggestion was left to be talked over in 
various circles for the ensuing week. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


MR. COAN ANSWERS THE DOCTOR. 



|HE doctor’s sermon had the usual effect 
of controversial sermons — it convinced 
everybody that was convinced before 
and strengthened those who before 
were strong. Everybody was talking of it. The 
farmers as they drove their oxen stepped with a 
vigorous air, like men that were not going to be 
brought under any yoke of bondage. Old ladies 
in their tea-drinkings talked about the danger of 
making a righteousness of forms and rites and 
ceremonies, and seemed of opinion that the pro- 
ceedings at the Episcopal church, however attrac- 
tive, were only an insidious putting forth of one 
paw of the Scarlet Beast of Rome, and that if 
not vigorously opposed the whole quadruped, 
tooth and claw, would yet be upon their backs. 

But it must not be supposed that this side of 
the question had all the talk to itself. The Rev. 
Simeon Coan was a youth of bright parts, vigor- 
ous combativeness and considerable fluency of 
speech, and he immediately prepared a sermon 
on his side of the question, by which, in the 

8i 


82 MR. CO AN ANSWERS THE DOCTOR. 

opinion of the Lewises, the Danforths, the Cop- 
leys and all the rest of his audience, he proved 
beyond a doubt that Christmas ought to be kept, 
and that the 25th of December was the proper 
time for keeping it. He brought also quotations 
from Greek and Latin thick as stars in the skies ; 
and as to the quotations of the doctor he ignored 
them altogether, and talked about something else. 

The doctor had been heard to observe with a 
subdued triumph that he really would like to see 
how “ Coan” would “ get round" that passage in 
Clement, but he could not have that pleasure, 
because “ Coan" did not get anywhere near it, 
but struck off as far as possible from it into a 
region of quotations on his own side ; and as his 
audience were not particularly fitted to adjudi- 
cate nice points in chronology, and as quotations 
from the Church Fathers on all sides of almost 
any subject under the sun are plentiful as black- 
berries in August, Mr. Coan succeeded in making 
his side to the full as irrefragable in the eyes of 
his hearers as the doctor’s in those of his. 

But besides this he reinforced himself by pro- 
claiming with vigor the authority of the Church. 
“ The Church has ordained," The Church in her 
wisdom has directed," ‘‘ The Church commands," 
and “ The Church hath appointed," were phrases 
often on his tongue, and the sound rolled 
smoothly above the heads of good old families 


MR. COAjV answers THE DOCTOR. 


83 

who had long felt the want of some definite form 
of authority to support their religious preferences 
m face of the general Congregationalism of the 
land. 

The Churchy that mysterious and awful power 
that had come down from distant ages, had sur- 
vived the dissolution of monarchies and was 
to-day the same as of old ! The thought was 
poetical and exciting, and gave impulse to the 
fervor inspired by a liturgy and forms of worship 
allowed even by adversaries to be noble and 
beautiful ; and their minister’s confident assertion 
that the Church commanded, approved and 
backed up all that they were doing was im- 
mensely supporting to the little band. The 
newly-acquired members, born and brought up 
in Congregational discipline, felt all the delight 
of a new sense of liberty. It had not always been 
possible to go to any other than the dominant 
church, and there was a fresh emotion of pleasure 
in being able to do as they pleased in the mat- 
ter; so they readily accepted Mr. Coan’s High 
Church claims and doctrines. Instead of standing 
on the defensive and apologizing for their exist- 
ence he boldly struck out for the rock of apos- 
tolic succession, declared their church the true 
Apostolic Church, the only real church in the 
place, although he admitted with an affable 
charity that doubtless good Christian people 


84 


• MR. CO AN ANSWERS THE DOCTOR. 


among the various sects who departed from th;s 
true foundation might at last be saved through 
the uncovenanted mercies of God. 

Imagine the scorn which this doctrine in- 
spired in Puritan people, who had been born 
in the faith that New England was the vine 
which God’s right hand had planted— who had 
looked on her church as the Church of God, cast 
out indeed into the wilderness, but bearing with 
her ‘‘the adoption, and the glory, and the cove- 
nants, the giving of the law, and the service of 
God, and the promises.” That faith was woven into 
the very existence of the New England race. 
They cast great roots about it as the oaks of the 
forest grasped and grew out of the eternal 
rocks of their hard and barren shores. So, when 
Mr. Simeon Coan, in a white surplice, amid sus- 
picious chantings and bowings and genuflections, 
announced a doctrine which disfranchised them 
of the heavenly Jerusalem, and made them aliens 
from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers 
to the covenant of promise, there was a grim 
sense of humor mingled with the indignation 
which swelled their bosoms. 

“Uncovenanted marcies!” said stout Tim Haw- 
kins. “Thet’s what they call ’em, do they? Wal, 
cf thet’s what Parson Cushing and all the min- 
isters of our association has got to live and die 
by — why, it’s good enough for me. I don’t want 


'MR. CO AN ANSWERS THE DOCTOR. 


S5 

no better; I don’t care which kind they be. I 
scorn to argue with such folks.” 

In fact they felt as if they had seen a chip 
sparrow flying in the face of an eagle in his 
rock-bound eyrie. 

But the doctor’s sermon had the effect to draw 
the lines as to keeping Christmas up to the tight- 
est brace. The academy teacher took occasion 
on Monday to remark to his scholars how he 
had never thought of such a thing as suspend- 
ing school for Christmas holidays, and those of 
the pupils who, belonging to Episcopal families, 
had gone on Christmas Day to church were 
informed that marks for absence and non- 
performance of lessons would stand against them, 
no matter what excuses they might bring from 
parents. As to Christmas holidays — the giving 
up to amusement a Aveek, from Christmas to New 
Year’s — he spoke of it as a popish enormity 
not to be mentioned or even thought of in God- 
fearing New England, which abhorred a holiday 
as much as nature abhors a vacuum. Those 
parents whose children had been drawn in to 
attend these seductive festivities were anxiously 
admonished by their elders in homilies from the 
text, “Surely, in vain the net is spread in the 
sight of any bird.” 

For example, witness one scene. It is Sun- 
day evening, and the bright snapping fire lights 


86 MR. COAN ANSWERS THE DOCTOR. 

up the great kitchen chimney where the widow 
Jones is sitting by the stand with her great Bible 
before her. A thin, weary, kindly old face is 
hers, w’ith as many lines in it as Denner’s cele- 
brated picture of the old woman. Everything 
about her, to her angular figure and her thin 
bony hands, bore witness to the unsparing work 
that had been laid upon every hour and moment 
of her life. Even now the thin hands that rested 
on the Bible twitched at times mechanically as 
if even in the blessed rest of Sunday evening 
she felt the touch of the omnipresent knitting 
needles. 

On the settle beside the fire, half stretched out, 
lounges Hiel, her youngest born son and the 
prop of her old age; for all others have gone 
hither and thither seeking their future in the 
world. Eliel has been comforting her heart by 
the heartiest praises of the minister’s sermon that 
day. 

I tell you what, Mother, them ’Piscopals got 
pitched into lively, now ; the Doctor pursued ’em 
* even unto Shur,’ as the Scriptur’ says.” 

“Yis; and, Hiel, I hope you won’t be seen 
goin’ to the ’Piscopal meetings no more. I felt 
reely consarned, after I heard the sarmon, to 
think of your bein’ in to that air ’lumination.” 

“Oh laws. Mother, I jest Jied to go to see to 
things. Things hez to be seen to; there was 


COAN ANSWERS THE DOCTOR. 


87 

ths Doctor’s boys right up in the front slips, 
and little Dolly there rolled up like a rabbit 
down there under them spruces. I hed to take 
her home. I expect it’s what waked up the 
Doctor so, what I said to him.” 

“Wal, Hiel, mebbe it was all fer the best; 
but I hope you’ll let it alone now. And I heard 
you was a settin’ up with Nabby Higgins the 
other evenin’ ; was you?” 

A curious expression passed over Hiel’s droll 
handsome face, and he drew his knife from his 
pocket and began reflectively to shave a bit of 
shingle. 

'‘Wal, yis, Mother; the fact is, I did stay with 
Nabby Christmas evening, as they call it. Nabby 
and me’s allers ben good friends, you know. 
You know. Mother, you think lots of Nabby ’s 
mother. Mis’ Higgins, and it ain’t her fault nor 
Nabby ’s ef she hez to leave our meetin’. It’s 
old Zeph that makes ’em.” 

“ O yis. I ha’n’t nothin’ agin Mis’ Higgins. 
Polly Higgins is a good woman as is goin’. I 
don’t want no better; but as to Nabby, why, 
she’s light and triflin’, and she’s goin’ right into 
all these ’ere vanities; and I don’t want no son 
of mine to get drawn away arter her. You 
know how ’twas in old times, it was the Moab- 
itish women that allers made mischief.” 

“ Oh land o’ Goshen, Mother, jes as ef it would 


88 MR, CO AN ANSWERS THE DOCTOR, 

do any harm me to set up with Nabby in 
the minister’s own kitchen. Ef she don’t pisen 
the minister’s boys and Dolly she won’t pisen me; 
besides, I wanted to see what was in that air bun- 
dle Mis’ Cushing’s folks sent to her from Boston. 
Of course I knew you’d be a wantin’ to know.” 

“ Wal, did you see?” said the widow, snapping 
at once at the bait so artfully thrown. 

“I rather reckon I did. Dolly she got a red 
frock and red shoes, and she was so tickled 
nothing would do but she must bring her red 
frock and red shoes right out to show to Nabby. 
They think all the world of each other, Nabby 
and Doily do.” 

“Was the dress made up?” said the widow. 

“ Oh, yis ; all made up, ready to put right on.” 

“Red, did you say?” 

“Yes, red as a robin, with little black sprigs 
in’t, and her shoes red morocco. I tell you she 
put ’em on and squeaked round in ’em lively ! 
Then there was six silk pocket-handkerchers for 
the Doctor, all hemmed, and his name marked 
in the corner; and there was a nice book for 
each o’ them boys, and a bunnet-ribbin for Miss 
Cushing.” 

“ What color was it ?” said the widow. 

“ Wal, I don’t know — sort o’ sky-blue scarlet,” 
said Hiel, tired of particulars. “ 1 never know 
what women call their ribbins.” 


MR. CO AN ANSWERS THE DOCTOR. 


89 

“ Wal, reely now, it’s a good thing for folks to 
have rich relations,” soliloquized the widow. “ I 
don’t grudge Mis’ Cushing her prosperity — not a 
grain.” 

“ Yis, and the doctor’s folks was glad enough 
to get them th ngs, if they was Christmas pres- 
ents. The Christmas didn’t pisen ’em, any Avay; 
Mis’ Cushing’s folks up to Boston ’s ’Piscopals, 
but she thinks they’re pretty nice folks, if they be 
’Piscopals. 

“ Now, Hiel,” said the widow, “ Nabby Hig- 
gins is a nice girl — a girl that’s got faculty, 
and got ambition, and she’s handsome. I expect 
she’s prudent and laid by something out of her 
wages ” — and here the widow paused and gazed 
reflectively at the sparks on the chimney-back. 

“Wal, Mother, the upshot On’t is that if I and 
Nabby should want to make a team together there 
wouldn’t be no call for wailin’ and gnashin’ of 
teeth. There might wuss things happen; but 
jes now Nabby and Ps good friends — that s all. 

And with this settlement the widow Jones, like 
many another mother, was forced to rest con- 
tented, sureT.haf her son, in his own good time, 
would — do just as he pleased. 


CHAPTER IX. 


ELECTION DAY IN POGANUC. 



HE month of March had dawned over 
the slippery, snow-clad hills of Poga- 
nuc. The custom that enumerates this 
as among the spring months was in 
that region the most bitter irony. Other winter 
months were simple winter — cold, sharp and hard 
enough — but March was winter with a practical 
application, driven in by winds that pierced 
through joints and marrow. Not an icicle of 
all the stalactites which adorned the fronts of 
houses had so much as thought of thawing ; the 
snow banks still lay in white billows above the 
tops of the fences ; the roads, through which the 
ox-sleds of the farmers crunched and squeaked 
their way, were cut deep down through heavy 
drifts, and there was still the best prospect in the 
world for future snow-storms ; but yet it was 
called “ spring.” And the voting day had come ; 
and Zeph Higgins, full of the energy of a sover- 
eign and voter, was up at four o’clock in the 
morning, bestirring himself with a tempestuous 
90 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC, 


91 


clatter to rouse his household and be by daylight 
on the way to town to exercise his rights. 

The feeble light of a tallow dip seemed to cut 
but a small circle into the darkness of the great 
kitchen. The frost sparkled white on the back of 
the big fire-place, where the last night’s coals lay 
raked up under banks of ashes. An earthquake 
of tramping cowhide boots shook the rafters and 
stairs, and the four boys appeared on the scene of 
action. Backlog and forestick were soon piled 
and kindlings laid, and the fire roared and 
snapped and crackled up the ample chimney. 
Meek, shadowy Mrs. Higgins, with a step like a 
snow-flake, and resignation and submission in 
every line of her face, was proceeding to cut off 
frozen sausages from the strings of the same that 
garnished the kitchen walls. The tea kettle was 
hung over the blaze, and Zeph and the boys, with 
hats crowded down to their eyes, and tippets tied 
over their ears, plowed their way to the barn to 
milk and feed the stock. 

When they returned, while the tea-kettle was 
puffing and the sausages frying and sizzling, there 
was an interval in which Zeph called to family 
prayers, and began reading the Bible wnth a voice 
as loud and harsh as the winds that were blowing 
out of doors. 

Zeph always read the Bible straight along in 
course, without a moment’s thought or inquiry as 


92 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC, 


to the sense of what he was reading, which this 
morning was from Zechariah xi., as follows : 
“ Open thy doors, O Lebanon, that the fire 
may devour thy cedars. Howl, fir tree; .for 
the cedar is fallen ; because the mighty arc 
spoiled. Howl, O ye oaks of Bashan, for 
the forest of the vintage is come down. There 
is a voice of the howling of the shepherds, for 
their glory is spoiled : a voice of the roaring of 
young lions, for the pride of Jordan is spoiled.” 
Zeph rendered the whole chapter with his harshest 
tones, and then, all standing, he enunciated in 
stentorian voice the morning prayer, whose 
phrases were an heir-loom that had descended 
from father to son for generations. 

The custom of family worship was one of the 
most rigid inculcations of the Puritan order of 
society, and came down from parent to child with 
the big family Bible, where the births, deaths and 
marriages of the household stood recorded. 

In Zeph’s case the custom seemed to be merely 
an inherited tradition, which had dwindled into a 
habit purely mechanical. Y et, who shall saiy ? 

Of a rugged race, educated in hardness, wring- 
ing his substance out of the very teeth and claws 
of reluctant nature, on a rocky and barren soil, 
and under a harsh, forbidding sky, who but the 
All-Seeing could judge him? In that hard soul 
there may have been thus uncouthly expressed a 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUG. 


93 


loyalty for Something Higher, however dimly 
perceived. It was acknowledging that even he 
had his master. One thing is certain, the custom 
of family prayers, such as it was, was a great 
comfort to the meek saint by his side, to whom 
any form of prayer, any pause from earthly care 
and looking up to a Heavenly Power, was a 
blessed rest. In that daily toil, often beyond her 
strength, when she never received a v/ord of 
sympathy or praise, it was a comfort all day to 
her to have had a chapter in the Bible and a 
prayer in the morning. Even though the chapter 
were one that she could not by possibility under- 
stand a word of, yet it put her in mind of things 
in that same dear book that she did understand ; 
things that gave her strength to live and hope 
to die by, and it was enough ! Pier faith in the 
Invisible Friend was so strong that she needed 
but to touch the hem of his garment. Even a 
table of genealogies out of Jiis book was a sacred 
charm, an amulet of peace. 

Four sons— tall, stout and ruddy, in dif- 
ferent stages of progression —surrounded the 
table and caused sausages, rye and Indian 
bread, and pork and beans, rapidly to dis- 
appear. Of these sons two only were of the 
age to vote. Zeph rigorously exacted of his boys 
the full amount of labor which the law allowed 
till their majority ; but at twenty-one he recog- 


94 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC, 


nized their legal status, and began giving them the 
wages of hired men. On this morning he longed 
to have his way as to their vote ; but the boys 
had enough of his own nature in them to have a 
purpose and will of their own, and how they were 
to vote was an impenetrable seeret loeked up in 
the rocky fastnesses of their own bosoms. 

As soon as there v/crc faint red streaks in the 
wintry sky, Zeph’s sled was on the road, well load- 
ed up with cord-wood to be delivered at Colonel 
Davenport’s door ; for Zeph never forgot business 
nor the opportunity of earning an honest penny. 
The oxen that drew his sled were sleek, well-fed 
beasts, the pride of Zeph’s heart, and a. the red 
sunlight darted across the snowy hills their 
breath steamed up, a very luminous cloud of 
vapor, which in a few moments congealed in 
sparkling frost lines on their patient eye- winkers 
and every little projecting hair around their great 
noses. The slcd-runncrs creaked and grated 
as Zeph, with loud “ Vv/’hoa,” “ Haw,” or “ Gee,” 
directed the plodding course of his beasts. The 
cutting March v^ind v/as blowing right into 
his face; his shaggy, grizzled eye-brows and 
bushy beard v/crc Avhitening apace ; but he was 
in good spirits — he was going to vote against the 
Federalists ; and as the largest part of the aris- 
tocracy of Town Hill were Federalists, he re- 
joiced all the more Zeph was a creature born 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC. 


95 

to oppose, as much as v/hitc bears are made to 
walk on ice. 

And how, we ask, would Nev/ England’s rocky 
soil and icy hills have been made mines ot wealth 
unless there had been human beings born to 
oppose, delighting to combat and v/restle, and 
with an unconquerable power of will? 

Zeph had taken a thirteen-acre lot so rocky 
that a sheep could scarce find a nibble there, had 
dug out and blasted and carted the rocks, 
wrought them into a circumambient stone fence, 
plowed and planted, and raised crop after crop of 
good rye thereon. He did it with heat, with 
zeal, with dogged determination ; he did it all 
the more because neighbors said he was a fool for 
trying, and that he could never raise anything on 
that lot. There was a stern joy in this hand-to- 
hand fight with nature. He got his bread as 
Samson did his honeycomb, out of the carcass of 
the slain lion. “ Out of the cater came forth meat, 
and out of the strong came forth sweetness.” 
Even the sharp March Avind did not annoy him. 
It v/as a controversial wind, and that suited him ; 
it was fighting him all the way, and he enjoyed 
beating it. Such a human being has his place 
in the Creator’s scheme. 

Poganuc was, for a still town, pretty well alive 
on that day. Farmers in their blue linsey frocks, 
with their long cart whips and their sleds hitched 


g6 ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC. 

here and there at different doors, formed frequent 
objects in the picture. It was the day when they 
felt themselves as good as anybody. The court 
house was surrounded by groups earnestly discus- 
sing the political questions ; many of them loafers 
who made a sort of holiday, and interspersed 
their observations and remarks with visits to the 
bar-room of Glazier’s tavern, which was doing a 
thriving business that morning. 

Standing by the side of the distributor of the 
Federal votes might be seen a tall, thin man, with 
a white head and an air of great activity and 
keenness. In his twinkling eye and in every line 
and wrinkle of his face might be read the observer 
and the humorist; the man who finds something 
to amuse him in all the quips and turns and 
oddities of human nature. This was Israel 
Dennie, High Sheriff of the County, one of the 
liveliest and shrewdest of the Federal leaders, 
who was, so to speak, crackling with activity, and 
entering into the full spirit of the day in all its 
phases. 

Here comes one of your party, Adams,” he 
said with a malicious side twinkle to the distribu- 
tor of the Democratic votes, as Abe Bowles, a 
noted mauvais sujet” of the village, appeared 
out of Glazier’s bar-rooiti, coming forward with 
a rather uncertain step and flushed face. 

Walk up, friend ; here you are.” 


ELECTION DA V IN POGAKUC, 


97 


‘‘ I’m a-goin’ for toleration,” said Abe, with 
thick utterance. “We’ve ben tied up too tight 
by these ’ere ministers, we have. I don’t want no 
priestcraft, I don’t. I believe every man’s got to 
do as he darn pleases, I do. 

“And go straight to the Devil if he wants to,” 
said Squire Dennie smoothly. “Go ahead, my 
boy, and put in your vote.” 

“ There comes old Zeph Higgins,” he added 
with alertness; “let us have a bit of fun with 
him.” 

“ Hulloa, Higgins ; step this way ; here’s Mr. 
Adams to give you your vote. You’re going to 
vote the Democratic ticket, you know.” 

“No, I ain’t, nuther,” said Zeph, from the sheer 
mechanical instinct of contradiction. 

“ Not going to vote with the Democrats, Hig- 
gins ? All right, then you’re going to vote the 
Federal ticket ; here ’tis.” 

“No, I ain’t, nuther. You let me alone. I ain’t 
a-goin’ to be dictated to. I’m a-goin’ to vote jest 
as I’m a mind ter. I won’t vote for nuther, ef I 
ain’t a mind ter, and I’ll vote for jest which one I 
want ter, and no other.” 

“ So you shall, Higgins ; so you shall,” said 
Squire Dennie sympathetically, laying his hand 
on Zeph’s shoulder. 

“I shan’t, nuther; you let me alone,” said 
Zeph, shaking off the SherifT s hand ; and clutch- 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC, 


98 

ing at the Democratic ticket, he pushed up 
towards the polls. 

“ There’s a fellow, now,” said Sheriff Dennie, 
looking after him with a laugh, That fellow’s 
so contrary that he hates to do the very thing he 
wants to, if anybody else wants him to do it. If 
there was any way of voting that would spite 
both parties and please nobody, he’d take that. 
The only way to get that fellow to heaven 
would be to set out to drive him to hell; then 
he’d turn and run up the narrow w^ay, full 
chisel.” 

It was some comfort to Zeph, however, to 
work his way up to the polls with Judge Belcher 
right in front and with Colonel Davenport’s aris- 
tocratic, powdered head and stately form pushing 
him along behind, their broadcloth crowded 
against his homespun carter’s frock, and he, 
Zephaniah, that day just as good as either. He 
would not have been so well pleased if he knew 
that his second son, Abner — following not long 
after him — dropped in the box the Federalist 
ticket. It was his right as a freeman ; but he 
had no better reason for his preference than the 
wish to please his mother. He knew that Dr. 
Cushing was a Federalist, and that his mother 
was heart and soul for every thing that Dr. 
Cushing was for, and therefore he dropped this 
vote for his mother ; and thus, as many times 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC. 


99 


before and since, a woman voted through her 
son. 

In fact, the political canvass just at this epoch 
had many features that might shock the pious 
sensibilities of a good house-mother. The union 
ot all the minor religious denominations to upset 
the dominant rule of the Congregationalists had 
been reinforced and supplemented by all that 
Jacobin and irreligious element which the French 
Revolution had introduced into America. 

The Poganuc Banner, a little weekly paper 
published in the village, expended its energies 
in coarse and scurrilous attacks upon ministers 
in general, and Dr. Cushing in particular. It 
ridiculed church-members, churches, Sunday- 
keeping, preaching and prayers ; in short, every 
custom, preference and prejudice which it had 
been the work of years to establish in New 
England was assailed with vulgar wit and 
ribaldry. 

Of course, the respectable part of the Demo- 
cratic party did not exactly patronize these 
views ; yet they felt for them that tolerance 
which even respectable people often feel in a 
rude push of society in a direction where they 
wish to go. They wanted the control of the 
State, and if rabid, drinking, irreligious men 
would give it to them, why not use them after 
their kind? When the brutes ad won the 


lOO 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC, 


battle for them, they would take care of the 
brutes, and get them back into their stalls. 

The bar-room of Glazier’s Tavern was the 
scene of the feats and boasts of this class of 
voters. Long before this time the clergy of Con- 
necticut, alarmed at the progress of intemper- 
ance, had begun to use influence in getting 
stringent laws and restraints upon drinking, and 
the cry of course was, “ Down with the laws.” 

'‘Tell ye what,” said Mark Merrill; “we’ve 
ben tied up so tight we couldn’t wink mor’n six 
times a week, and the parsons want to git it so 
we can’t wink at all ; and we won’t have it so 
no longer ; \ve’re goin’ to have liberty.” 

“ Down with the tithing-man, say I,” said Tim 
Sykes. “ Whose business is it what I do Sun- 
days? I ain’t goin’ to have no tithing-man spying 
on my liberty. I’ll do jest what I’m a mind ter, 
Sundays. Ef I wan ter go a-fishin’ Sundays, I’ll 
go a-fishin’.” 

“Tell yc what,’’ said Liph Kingsley, as he 
stirred his third glass of grog. “ This ’ere priest- 
craft’s got to go down. Reason’s got on her 
throne, and chains is failin’. I’m a free man 
—I be.” 

“ You look like it,” said Hiel, who stood with 
his hands in his pockets contemptuously survey- 
ing Liph, while with leering eye and unsteady 
hand he stirred his drink. 


ELECTICrr da Y IN POGANUC. 


loi 


''That air’s what you call Reason, is*t ?” added 
Hiel. "Wal, she’s got on a pretty topplish 
throne, seems to me. I bet you Reason can’t 
walk a crack now,” he said, as Liph, having 
^taken off his glass, fell with a helpless dump 
upon the settle. 

" Sot down like a spoonful of applc-saas,” 
said Hiel, looking him over sarcastically. The 
laugh now turned against the poor brute, and 
Hiel added: "Wal, boys, s’pose you like this 
’ere sort of thing. Folks is different; for my 
part I like to kinder keep up a sort o’ differ- 
ence ’tween me and a hog. That air’s my 
taste ; but you’re welcome to yourn,” and Hiel 
went out to carry his observations elsewhere. 

Hiel felt his own importance to the com- 
munity of Poganuc Center too much to have been 
out of town on this day, Avhen its affairs needed 
so much seeing to, therefore he had deputed 
Ned Bissel, a youth yet wanting some two years 
of the voting age, to drive his team for him while 
he gave his undivided attention to public interests ; 
and indeed, as nearly as mortal man can be omni- 
present, Hiel had been everyAvhere and heard 
everything, and, as the French say, "assisted” gen- 
erally at the political struggle. Hiel considered 
himself as the provisional owner and care-taker 
of the town of Poganuc. It was our town, and 
Dr. Cushing was our minister, and the great 


102 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC. 


meeting-house on the green was our meeting- 
house, and the singers’ seat therein was our 
singers’ seat, and he was ready to bet on any 
sermon, or action, or opinion of our minister. 
Hiel had not yet, as he phrased it, experienced 
religion, nor joined the church ; but he calcu- 
lated he should some of these days.” It wasn’t 
Doctor Cushing’s fault if he wasn’t converted, he 
was free to affirm. Hiel had been excessively 
scandalized with the scurrilous attacks of the 
Poganuc Banner, and felt specially called to show 
his colors on that day. He had assured his 
mother on going out that morning that she 
needn’t be a mite afeared, for lie was a-goin’ to 
stand up for the minister through thick and thin, 
and if any of them Democrats saassed ” him 
he’d give ’em as good as they sent. 

In virtue of his ardent political zeal, he felt 
himself to-day on equal and speaking terms with 
all the Federal magnates ; he clapped Colonel 
Davenport on the shoulder assuringly, and talked 
about our side,” and was familiar with Judge 
Belcher and Sheriff Dennic — darting hither and 
thither, observing and reporting with untiring 
zeal. 

But, after all, that day the Democrats beat, and 
got the State of Connecticut. Sheriff Dennie was 
the first to carry the news of defeat into the 
parsonage at eventide. 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC. 


103 

“Well, Doctor, v/c’re cmashed. Democrats 
beat us all to flinders.” 

A general groan arose. 

“Yes, yes,” said the Sheriff. “Everything has 
voted that could stand on its hind legs, and the 
hogs arc too many for us. It’s a bad beat — bad 
beat.” 

That night v/hcn little Dolly came in to family 
prayers, she looked around v/ondering. Her 
father and mother looked stricken and overcome. 
There was the cort of heaviness in the air that 
even a child can feel when deep emotions arc 
aroused. The boys, v/ho knew only in a general 
way that their father’s side had been beaten, 
looked a little scared at his dejected face. 

“Father, what makes you feel so bad?” said 
Will, with that surpri^d wonder with which 
children approach emotions they cannot under- 
stand. 

“ I feel for the Church of God, my child,” he 
said, and then he sung for the evening psalm : 

“ I love thy kingdom, Lord, 

The house of thine abode ; 

The Church our dear Redeemer saved 
With his own precious blood. 

For her my tears shall fall, 

For her my prayers ascend ; 

To her my cares and toils be given 
Till toils and cares shall end.'’ 

In the prayer that followed he pleaded for 
New England with all the Hebraistic imagery by 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC. 


104 

v/liich she was identiried v/itli God’s ancient 
people : 

“ Give ear, O Shepherd of Israel ; thou that 
leadest Joseph like a flock ; thou that dwellest 
between the cherubims, shine forth. Thou 

hast brought a vine out of Egypt ; thou didst 
cast forth the heathen, and plant it ; thou pre- 
paredst room for it and didst cause it to take 
deep root, and it filled the land. The hills were 
covered with the shadow of it, and the boughs 
thereof were like the goodly cedars. Why hast 
thou then broken dovvii her hedges so that all 
that pass by the v/ay do pluck her? The boar 
out of the wood doth waste it ; the wild beast of 
the field doth devour it. Return, we beseech 
thee, O Lord, and visit this vine and vineyard 
that thou has planted and the branch that thou 
madcst strong for thyself.” 

It v/as with a voice tremulous and choking with 
emotion that Dr. Cushing thus poured forth the 
fears and the sorrov^s of his heart for the New 
England of the Puritans ; the ideal church and 
state which they came hither to found. 

Little Dolly cried from a strange childish fear, 
because of the trouble in her father’s voice. The 
pleading tones affected her, she knew not wh3'. 
The boys felt a martial determination to stand by 
their father and a longing to fight for him. All 
felt as if something deep and dreadful must have 


ELECTION DA Y IN POGANUC. 


105 

happened, and after prayers Dolly climbed into 
her father’s lap, and put both arms around his 
neck, and said : “ Papa, there sha’n’t anything 
hurt you. I’ll defend you.” She was somewhat 
abashed by the cheerful laugh which followed, 
but the Doctor kissed her and said : So you 
shall, dear; be sure and not let anything catch 
me,” and then he tossed her up in his arms glee- 
fully, and she felt as if the trouble, whatever it 
was, could not be quite hopeless. 

But Dolly marveled in her own soul as she 
went to bed. She heard the boys without stint 
reviling the Democrats as the authors of all 
mischief; and )^et Bessie Lewis’s father was a 
Democrat, and he seemed a nice, cheery, good- 
natured man, who now and then gave her sticks 
of candy, and there v/as his mother, dear old 
Madame Lewis, who gave her the Christmas 
cookey. How could it be that such good people 
were Democrats? Poor Dolly hopelessly sighed 
over the mystery, but dared not ask questions. 

But the Rev. Mr. Coan rejoiced in the result 
of the election. Not that he was by any means 
friendly to the ideas of the Jacobinical party by 
whose help it had been carried ; but because, as 
he said, it opened a future for the church — for 
he too had his idea of The Church.” Mean- 
while tne true church, invisible to human eyes 
— one in spirit, though separated by creeds — 


I 06 ELECTION DA Y IN FOGANUC. 

was praying and looking upward, in the heart 
of Puritan and Ritualist, in the heart of old 
Madame Lewis, of the nev/ Church, and of old 
Mrs. Higgins, whose soul was with the old 
meeting-house ; of all everywhere who with 
humble purpose and divine aspiration were pray- 
ing : Thy kingdom come ; Thy will be done.’’ 

That kingdom was coming even then — for its 
coming is in safer hands than those on either side 
— and there came a time, years after, when Par- 
son Cushing, looking back on that election and 
its consequences, could say with another distin- 
guished Connecticut clergyman : 

“ I suffered more than tongue can tell for the 
best thing that ever happened to old Con- 
necticut.” 


CHAPTER X. 

dolly’s perplexities. 

OLLY went to bed that night, her little 
soul surging and boiling with conject- 
ure. A-11 day scraps of talk about the 
election had reached her ears ; her 
nerves had been set vibrating by the tones of 
her father’s prayer, some words of which 3 'ct 
rung in her ear — tones of passionate pleading 
whose purport she could scarcely comprehend. 
What was this dreadful thing that had happened 
or was going to happen? She heard her brother 
Will emphatically laying oil the state of the case 
to Nabby in the kitchen, and declaring that “ the 
Democrats were going to upset the whole State, 
for father said so.” 

Exactly what this meant, Dolly could not con- 
ceive; but, coupled with her mother’s sorrowful 
face and her father’s prayer, it must mean some- 
thing dreadful. Something of danger to them 
all might be at hand, and she said her “ pray God 
to bless my dear father and mother” with unusual 
fervor. 

Revolving the matter on her pillow, she had 

107 



io8 


bOLLY'S PERPLEXITIES. 


a great mind, the next time she met General 
Lewis with his smiling face, to walk boldly up 
to him and remonstrate, and tell him to let her 
papa alone and not upset the State! 

Dolly had a great store of latent heroism and 
felt herself quite capable of making a courageous 
defense of her father — and her heart swelled with 
a purpose to stand by him to the last gasp, no 
matter what came. 

But sleep soon came down with her downy 
wings, and the great blue eyes were closed, and 
Dolly knew not a word more till v/aked by the 
jingling of sleigh-bells and the creaking of sleds 
at early sunrise. 

She sprang up, dressed quickly, and ran to the 
window. Evidently the State had not been upset 
during the night, for the morning was clear, 
bright and glorious as heart could desire. 

The rosy light of morning filled the air, the 
dreary snow-wreaths lay sparkling in graceful 
lines with tender hues of blue and lilac and pink 
in their shadows, and merry sleigh-bells were 
ringing and the boys vfere out snow-balling each 
other m mere wantonness of boy life, while Spring 
v/as barking frantically, evidently resolved to be 
as frisky a boy as any of them. 

The fears and apprehensions of last night were 
all gone like a cloud, and she hurried doivn into 
the kitchen to find Nabby stirring up her buck- 






DOLLY'S PERPLEXITIES, 


-109 


wheat batter, and running to the v/indov/ to see 
Hiel go by on the stage, kissing his hand to her 
as he passed. 

“ I declare! the imperence of that cretur,” said 
Nabby. 

“What, Hiel?” asked Dolly. 

“Yes, Hiel Jones! he’s the conceitedest fellow 
that ever I did see. You can’t look out of a win- 
dow but he thinks your running to look at him.'' 

“And wasn’t you running to look at him?” 
asked Dolly. 

“ Land o’ Goshen, no ! What should I want 
to look at him for? I jest wanted to see — well, 
them horses lie’s got.”' 

“Oh,” said Dolly. 

Upon reflection she added, 

“I thought you liked Hiel, Nabby.” 

“You thought I liked Hiel?” said Nabby 
laughing. “ What a young ’un ! Why, I can’t 
bear the sight of him,”, and Nabby greased her 
griddle v/ith combative energy. “ Pie’s the saas- 
siest fellov/ I ever see. 1 ca?it bear himr 

Dolly reflected on this statement gravely, 
while Nabby dropped on the first griddleful of 
cakes; Anally she said, 

“ If you don’t like Plicl, Nabby, what made you 
sit up so late with him Christmas night?” 

“ Who said I did ?” said Nabby, beginning to 
turn griddle-cakes with velocity. 


no 


DOLLY'S PERPLEXITIES, 


“ Why, Will and Tom ; they both say so. They 
heard when Pliel went out the kitchen door, and 
they counted the clock striking twelve just as he 
went. Will says he kissed you, too, Nabby. Did 
he?” 

Well, if ever I see such young ’uns !” said 
Nabby, flaming carnation color over the fire as 
she took off the cakes. “ That Bill is saassy 
enough to phj^sic a hornbug. I never see the 
beat of him!” 

“ But did Hiel stay so late, Nabb}^ ?” 

Well, yes, to be cure he did. I thought I 
never should have got him out of the house. If 
I hadn’t let him kiss me I believe in my soul I’d 
’a’ had to set up with him till morning ; he said he 
wouldn’t go Vvdthout. I’ve been mad at him ever 
since. I tokl him never to show his face here 
again; but I know he’ll come. He does it on 
purpose to plague me.” 

“That is dreadful!” said Dolly, meditatively 
“ I v/ouldn’t let him. I’ll tell you Avhat,” she 
added, Avith animation, “ I'll talk to him and tell 
him ho mustn’t come here any more. Sha’n’t I, 
Nabby?” 

But Nabby laughed and said, “ No, no ; little 
girls mustn’t talk so. Don’t you never say 
nothin’ to Hiel about it; if you do I Aven’t tell 
you no more. Here, carry in this plate o’ cakes, 
for they’re calin’ breakfast. I heard your pa 


DOLLY'S PERPLEXITIES. 


Ill 


askin’ blessin’ just after you came down. You 
carry these in while I get on the next griddle- 
ful.” 

Dolly assumed her seat at table, but there 
again the trouble met her. Her father and 
mother were talking together with sad, anxious 
faces. 

“ It is a most mysterious dispensation why this 
is allowed,” said her mother. 

Yes, my dear, ‘ clouds and darkness are round 
about Plim,’ but we must have faith.” 

Here Spring varied the discourse by putting 
his somber black visage over Dolly’s arm and 
resting his nose familiarly on the table, whereat 
she couldn’t help giving him the half of a griddle- 
cake. 

How many times must I tell you, Dolly, that 
Spring is never to be fed at the table?” said her 
mother. ‘‘ I love dogs,” she added, “ but it spoils 
them to be fed at table.” 

“ Why, papa does it sometimes,” pleaded Tom. 

Mrs. Cushing was obliged to confess to the 
truth of this, for the doctor when pursuing the 
deeper mazes of theology was sometimes so 
abstracted that his soul took no note of what his 
body was doing, and he had been more than once 
detected in giving Spring large rations under the 
table while expounding some profound mysteries 
of foreknowledge and free will. 


II2 


DOLLY'S PERPLEXITIES. 


Tom’s remark was a home-thrust, but his 
mother said, reprovingly : 

‘‘ Your father never means to do it; but he has 
so much to do and think of that he is sometimes 
absent-minded.” 

A conscious twinkle might have been observed 
playing about the blue eyes of the doctor, and 
a shrewd observer might have surmised that the 
oifense was not always strictly involuntary, for 
the doctor, though a most docile and tractable 
husband, still retained here and there traces of 
certain wild male instincts and fell at times into 
singular irregularities. He had been known to 
upset all Mrs. Cushing’s nicely arranged yarn- 
baskets and stocking-baskets and patch-baskets, 
pouring the contents in a heap on the floor, and 
carrying them off bodily to pick up chestnuts in, 
when starting off with the children on a nutting 
expedition. He would still persist at intervals in 
going to hunt eggs in the barn with Dolly, and 
putting the fruits of the search in his coat-tail 
pocket, though he had once been known to sit 
down on a pocketful at a preparatory lecture, the 
bell for which rung while he was yet on the 
hay- mow. 

On this occasion, therefore. Spring made an 
opportune diversion in the mournful turn the 
conversation was taking. The general tone of 
remark became slightly admonitory on the part 


DOLLY'S PERPLEXITIES, 


113 

of Mrs. Cushing and playfully defensive on the 
part of the doctor. In their “ heart of heart ” 
the boys believed their father sometimes fed 
Spring when he did know what he was about, 
and this belief caused constant occasional lapses 
from strict statute law on their part. 

That morning, in prayers, their father read : 
“God is our refuge and strength, a very pres- 
ent help in time of trouble. Therefore will we 
not fear, though the earth be removed ; though 
the mountains be carried into the midst of the 
sea;” and at those verses he slopped and said: 
“There, my dear, there must be our comfort.” 
And then they sung: 

“ Oh God, our help in ages past, 

Our hope for years to come, 

Our shelter from the stormy blast, 

And our eternal home.” 

Then in prayer he plead for the Church — the 
Church of God, the vine of his planting — and 
said : 

“When the enemy cometh in like a flood, 
may Thy spirit lift up a standard against them 
and again Dolly trembled and wondered. But 
after prayers Bill suddenly burst back into the 
house. 

“Oh! mamma, there is a bluebird! Spring is 
come i” 

“A bluebird! Impossible so early in March. 
You must be mistaken.” 


114 


DOLLY'S PERPLEXITIES. 


No. Come to the door ; you can hear him 
just as plain !” 

And, sure enough, on the highest top of the 
great button- ball tree opposite the house sat 
the little blue angel singing with all his might 
— a living sapphire dropped down from the walls 
of the beautiful city above. A most sanguine 
and imprudent bluebird certainly he must have 
been, though the day was so lovely and the 
great icicles on the eaves of the house were 
actually commencing to drip. But there un- 
doubtedly he was — herald and harbinger of good 
days to come. 

“ It is an omen,” said the doctor, as he put 
his arms fondly round his wife, “ The Lord 
liveth, and blessed be our rock !” 

And the boys and Dolly ran out, shouting 
wildly, 

1 here’s been a bluebird. Spring is coming 
— spring is coming!” 


CHAPTER XL 

DOLLY AND NABBY INVITED OUT. 



ES. Spring was coming; the little blue 
herald was right, though ho must have 
chilled his beak and frozen his toes as 
he sat there. But he came from the 
great Somewhere, where things are always bright ; 
where life and summer and warmth and flowers 
are forever going on while we are bound down 
under ice and snow. 

There was a thrill in the hearts of all the 
children that da}^ with visions of coming violets, 
hcpaticas and anemones, of green grass and long 
bright sunny rambles by the side of the Poganuc 
river. 


The boys were so premature in hope as to 
get out their store of fish-hooks, and talk of 
trouting. The Doctor looked over his box of 
garden seeds, and read the labels. “ Early Let- 
tuce,” ‘‘ Early Cucumbers,” “ Summer Squashes” 
— all this v/as inspiring reading, and seemed 
to help him to have faith that a garden was 
coming round again, though the snow banks yet 

m 


Ii6 DOLLY AND NABBY INVITED OUT. 

lay over the garden-spot deep and high. All day 
long it thawed and melted ; a warm south wind 
blew and the icicles dripped, so that there was 
a continual patter. 

Two circumstances of importance in Doily’s 
horoscope combined on this happy day : Hicl 
invited Nabby to an evening sleigh-ride after 
supper, and Mrs. Davenport invited her father 
and mother to a tea-drinking at the same time. 

Notwithstanding her stout wwds about Hicl, 
Nabby in the most brazen and decided manner 
declared her intention to accept his invitation, 
because (as she remarked) “ Hiel had just 
bought a bran nev^r sleigh, and Almiry Smith 
had said publicly that she was going to ha\e 
the first ride in that air sleigh, and she would 
like to show Almiry that she didn’t know every 
thing.” Nabby had inherited from her father a 
fair share of combativeness, which was ahvays 
bubbling and boiling within her comely person 
at the very idea of imaginary wrongs ; and, as 
she excitedly wiped her tea-cups, she went on : 

“ That air Almiry Smith is a stuck-up thing ; 
always turning up her nose at me, and talking 
about my being a hired gal. What’s the dif- 
ference ? I live out and work, and she stays to 
home and works. I work for the minister’s 
folks and get my dollar a week, and she works 
for her father and don’t git nothin’ but just her 


DOLLY AND NABBY INVITED OUT. 


117 


board and her keep. So, I don’t see why she 
need take airs over me — and she sha’n’t do it !” 

But there was a tranquilizing influence breath- 
ing over Nabby’s soul, and she soon blew off the 
little stock of spleen and invited Dolly into her 
bed-room to look at her new Leghorn bonnet, 
just home from Miss Hinsdale’s milliner-shop, 
which she declared was too sweet for anything. 

Now, Leghorn bonnets were a newly-imported 
test of station, grandeur and gentility in Poganuc. 
Up to this period the belles of New England had 
worn braided straw, abundantly pretty, and often 
braided by the fair fingers of the wearers them- 
selves, while they studied their lessons or read 
the last novel or poem. 

But this year Miss Hetty Davenport, and Miss 
Ellen Dennie, and the blooming daughters of the 
governor, and the fair Maria Gridley had all 
illuminated their respective pews in the meeting- 
house with Leghorn flats — large and fine of braid, 
and tremulous with the delicacy of their fiber. 
Similar wonders appeared on the heads of the 
juvenile aristocracy of the Episcopal church; and 
the effect was immediate. ' 

Straw bonnets were “ no where.” To have a 
Leghorn was the thing; and Miss Hinsdale im- 
ported those of many qualities and prices, to suit 
customers. Nabby’s was not of so fine a braid as 
that of the governor’s daughters; still it was a 


ji8 DOLLY AND NABBY INVITED OUT. 

real Leghorn hat, and her soul was satisfied. She 
wanted a female bosom to sympathize with her 
in this joy, and Dolly was the chosen one. 

Proud of this confidence, Dolly looked, ex- 
claimed, admired, and assisted at the toilette- 
trial — yet somewhat wondering at the facility 
with which Nabby forgot all her stringent decla- 
rations of the morning before. 

“You don’t suppose he would dare to kiss you 
again, Nabby ?” Dolly suggested timidly, while 
Nabby stood at the glass with her bonnet on, 
patting her curls, shaking her head, pulling into 
place here a bow and there a flower. 

“Why, Dolly Cushing,” said Nabby, laughing; 
“ what a young ’un you arc to remember things ! 
I never saw such a child ! ” 

“ But you said r— cried Dolly,— 

“Oh, never mind what I said. Do you suppose 
I can’t keep that fellow in order ? I’d just like to 
have him try it again — and see what he’d get ! 
There now, what do you think of that ? ” And 
Nabby turned round and showed a general 
twinkle of nodding flowers, fluttering ribbons, 
bright black eyes, and cheeks with laughing 
dimples which came and went as she spoke or 
laughed. 

Nabby, I do declare, you are splendid,’’ said 
Dolly. “ Kiel said once you was the hand- 
somest girl in Poganuc.” 


DOLLY AND NABBY IN FI TED OUT. ng 

‘^He did, did he? Well, I’ll let him know a 
thing or two before I’ve done with him ; and 
Almiry Smith, too, with her milk-and-water^ face 
and stringy curls.” 

“Did that bonnet cost a great deal?” asked 
Dolly. 

“What do you mean, child?” asked Nabby, 
turning quickly and looking at her. 

“ Nothing, only Mrs. Davenport said that hired 
girls were getting to dress just like ladies.” 

Nabby flared up and grew taller, and seemed 
about to rise from the floor in spontaneous com- 
bustion. 

“ I declare !” she said. “ That’s just like these 
’ere stuck-up Town Hill folks. Do they think 
nobody’s to have silk gowns and Leg’orn bon- 
nets but them? Who’s a better right, I should 
like to know? Don’t we work for our money, 
and ain’t it ourn? and ain’t we just as good as 
they be? I’ll buy just such clothes as I see fit, 
and if anybody don’t like it why they may lump 
it, that’s all. I’ve a better right to my bonnet 
than Hetty Davenport has to hers, for I earned 
the money to pay for it, and she just lives to 
do nothing, and be a bill of expense to her 
folks.” 

Dolly cowered under this little hurricane ; but, 
Poganuc being a windy town, Dolly had full 
experience that the best way to meet a sudden 


120 


DOLLY AND NAB BY INVITED OUT 


gust IS to wait for it to blow itself out, as she 
did on the present occasion. In a minute Nabby 
laughed and was herself again ; it was im.possible 
to be long uncomfortable with a flower garden 
on one’s head. 

“ I shall be lonesome to-night without you, 
Nabby,” said Dolly; “the boys talk Latin to 
me and plague me when I want to play with 
them.” 

“ Oh, I heard Mis’ Cushing say she was going 
to take you to the tea-party, and that ’ll be just 
as good for you.” 

Dolly jumped up and down for joy and ran 
to her mother only to have the joyful tidings 
confirmed. “ I shall never leave Dolly alone in 
the house again, with nobody but the boys,” she 
said, “ and I shall take her with us. It will be 
a lesson in good manners for her.” 

It may have been perceived by the intimations 
of these sketches hitherto that there were in the 
town of PoganuC two distinct circles of people, 
who mingled in public affairs as citizens and in 
church affairs as communicants, but who rarely 
or never met on the same social plane. 

There was the haute noblesse — very affably dis- 
posed, and perfectly willing to condescend; and 
there was the proud democracy, prouder than 
the noblesse, who wouldn’t be condescended to, 
and insisted on having their way and their say, 


DOLLY AND NABBY LNVLTED OUT. 


I2I 


on the literal, actual standpoint of the original 
equality of human beings. 

The sons and daughters of farmers and me- 
chanics would willingly exchange labor with each 
other ; the daughters would go to a neighboring 
household where daughters were few, and help 
in the family work, and the sons likewise would 
hire themselves out where there was a deficiency 
of man-power ; but they entered the family as full 
equals, sharing the same table, the same amuse- 
ments, the same social freedoms, with the family 
they served. 

It was because the Town Hill families wished 
to hire servants, according to the Old-World 
acceptation of the term, that it became a matter 
of exceeding difficulty to get any of the free 
democratic citizens or citizenesses to come to 
them in that capacity. 

Only the absolute need of mone}^ reconciled 
any of them to taking such a place, and then 
they took it with a secret heart-burning and a 
jealous care to preserve their own personal 
dignity. 

Nabby had compromised her pride in working 
for “the minister,” for the minister in early New 
England times was the first gentleman of the 
parish, and a place in his family was a different 
thing from one in any other. 

Nevertheless, Nabby required to be guided 


122 


DOLLY AND NAB BY INVITED OUT. 


with a delicate hand and governed with tact and 
skill. There were things that no free-born Amer- 
ican girl would do, and Mrs. Cushing had the 
grace not to expect those things. For instance, 
no Yankee girl would come at the ringing of a 
bell. To expect this Avould, as they held it, be to 
place them on a level with the negroes still 
retained as servants in some old families. It was 
useless to argue the point. Nabby’s cheeks would 
flush, and her eyes flash, and the string of her 
tongue would be loosed, and she would pour 
forth torrents of declamation if one attempted to 
show that calling by a bell was no worse than 
calling by the voice or sending out one of the 
children. Mrs. Cushing did not try to do it. 

Another point was the right to enter the house 
by the front door. Now, as Nabby’s work lay 
in the kitchen and as her sleeping-room was just 
above, it was manifestly an inconvenience to enter 
by any other than the kitchen door. Neverthe- 
less, she had heard the subject discussed among 
other girls, and had admired the spirit shown by 
her intimate friend, Maria Pratt, when Mrs. Israel 
Deyter pointed out to her the propriety of enter- 
ing by the back door, — “ Mrs. Deyter, do you 
think there will be a back and a front door to 
heaven?” 

But Mrs. Cushing avoided the solution of this 
theological problem by looking on with a smile 


DOLLY AND NABBY INVITED OUT. 


123 


of ca]m amusement when Nabby very conspicu- 
ously and perse veringly persisted in entering by 
the front door the first week of her engagement 
with the family. As nothing was said and 
nothing done about it, Nabby gradually declined 
into doing what was most convenient — went the 
shortest way to her work and room. Nabby was 
in her way and place a person worth making 
concessions to, for she was a workwoman not to 
be despised. Her mother, Mrs. Higgins, was 
one of those almost fabulous wonders of house- 
hold genius who by early rising, order, system, 
neatness and dispatch reduced the seemingly 
endless labors of a large family to the very 
minimum of possibility. Consequently there was 
little occasion for the mistress of a family to 
overlook or to teach Nabby. When she entered 
the household she surveyed the situation with 
trained eyes, took an account of all work to be 
done, formed her system and walked through it 
daily with energetic ease, always securing to 
herself two or three hours of leisure every day in 
which to do her own cutting, fitting and sewing. 
According to the maxims in which she had been 
brought up, a girl that did not “ do up her work 
in the morning,” so as to have this interval of 
leisure, was not mistress of her business. On 
washing days Nabby s work began somewhere in 
the latter part of the night, and daylight saw her 


124 


DOLLY AND NABBY IN FI TED OUT, 


flags of victory waving on the lines in the shape 
of renovated linen, and Nabby with great com- 
posure getting breakfast as on any other day. 

She took all her appointed work as a matter 
of course. Strong, young, and healthy, she 
scarcely knew what fatigue was. She was cheer- 
ful, obliging, and good tempered, as thoroughly 
healthy people generally are. There was, to 
be sure, a little deposit of gunpowder in Nabby ’s 
nature, and anybody who chose to touch a match 
to her self-esteem, her sense of personal dignity 
or independence, was likely to see a pretty lively 
display of fireworks ; but it was always soon 
over, and the person making the experiment 
did not generally care to repeat it. 

But Kiel Jones found this chemical experiment 
irresistibly fascinating, and apparently did not 
care how often he burned his fingers with it. 
Hiel was somewhat blas^ with easy conquests. 

The female sex have had in all ages their spoiled 
favorites, who are ungrateful just in proportion 
to the favors bestowed upon them; and Hiel 
was in his circle as much courted and pursued 
with flattering attentions as any spoiled tenor of 
the modern opera. For him did Lucinda and 
Jane bake surreptitious mountains of sponge cake. 
Small tributes of cream, butter, pies of various 
name and model, awaited him at different 
stopping-places, and were handed him by fair 


DOLLY AND NABBY INVITED OUT. 


125 


hands with flattering smiles. The Almira of 
whom Nabby discoursed with such energetic 
vehemence had knit Kiel a tippet, worked his 
name on a pocket-handkerchief with her hair, and 
even gone so far as to present him with one of 
the long yellow curls which Nabby was pleased 
to call “stringy.” Nabby’s curls certainly could 
not have merited any such epithet, as every 
separate one of them had a will and a way of 
its own, and all were to the full as mutinous 
as their mistress. Yet Kiel would have given 
more for one of those rebellious curls than for 
all Almira’s smooth-brushed locks, and although 
a kiss from Nabby was like a kiss from one on 
an electric stool, snapping and prickling at every 
touch, yet somehow the perverse Hiel liked the 
excitement of the shock. 

Kiel’s tactics for the subjugation of a female 
heart were in the spirit of a poet he never 
heard of : 

“ Pique her, and soothe in turns ; 

Soon passion crowns thy hopes.” 

He instituted a series of regular quarrels with 
Nabby, varied by flattering attentions, and de- 
lighted to provoke her to anger, sure that she 
would say a vast deal more than she meant, and 
then, in the reaction which is always sure to 
follow in the case of hot-tempered, generous 
people, he should find his advantage. 


126 DOLLY AND NABBY INVITED OUT. 

So, when the stars looked out blinking and 
winking through a steel-blue sky, Nabby, in the 
fascinating new bonnet, was handed into the 
smart new sleigh, tucked in with Kiel under 
a profusion of buffalo robes, and went jingling 
away. A supper and a dance awaited them at 
a village tavern ten miles off, and other sleighs 
and other swains with their ladies were on the 
same way,, where we take our leave of them to 
follow our little Dolly into the parlors of the 
haute noblesse. 


CHAPTER XII. 


DOLLY GOES INTO COMPANY. 

Dolly found herself arrayed in her 
dress and red shoes, her hair 
y curled, she was so happy that, to 
k scripturally, she leaped for joy — 
flew round and round with her curls flying, like a 
little mad-cap — till her mother was obliged to 
apply a sedative exhortation, 

“Take care, Dolly; take care. I can’t take 
you, now, unless you are good. If you get 
so wild as that I shall have to leave you at 
home. Come here, and let me talk to you.” 

And Dolly came and stood, grave and serious, 
at her mother’s knee, who, while she made over 
and arranged some of the tumbled curls, pro- 
ceeded to fortify her mind for the coming emer- 
gency with suitable precepts. 

“ It’s a great thing for a little girl like you, 
Dolly, to be allowed to sit up with grown people 
till nine o’clock, and to go put with your mamma, 
and I want you to be very careful and behave as 
a good little girl should. I take you, so that you 
may learn good manners. Now, remember, Dolly, 

127 




128 


DOLLY GOES INTO COMPANY, 


you mustn’t speak to any of them unless you are 
spoken to.” 

Dolly reflected on this precept gravely, and 
then said : 

“ Don’t they speak to any one except when 
they are spoken to ? ” 

Yes, my dear, because they are grown-up 
people, and know when to speak and what is 
proper to be said. Little girls do not ; so they 
must be silent. Little girls should be seen and 
not heard.” 

Dolly knew this maxim by heart already, and 
she no more questioned the propriety of it than 
of any of the great laws of nature. 

After an interval of serious reflection, she asked: 

“ But, if any of them should talk to me, then I 
may talk to them ; may I ? ” 

“ Yes, my dear; if any body talks to you, you 
must answer, but be careful not to talk too long.” 

“ Do you think. Mamma, that Judge Gridley 
will be there?” 

“Yes, my dear, I presume so.” 

“ Because I am acquainted with him,” remarked 
Dolly gravely ; “ he always talks to me. He 
meets me sometimes coming home from school 
and talks to me. I am glad he will be there.” 

Mrs. Cushing smiled aside to her husband as 
she was tying on Dolly’s little hood, and then her 
father took her up in his arms and they started. 


DOLLY GOES INTO COMPANY. 


129 


Tea parties in the highest circles of Poganuc 
began at six and ended at nine, and so when 
Dolly and her father and mother arrived they 
found a room full of people. Col. Davenport was 
a tall, elegant man, with an upright, soldierly 
carriage, his hair powdered white, and tied in a 
queue down his back ; his eyes of a clear, piercing 
blue, looking out each side of a well-defined 
aquiline nose ; his voice deep and musical, with 
a sort of resonance which spoke of one used to 
command. The Colonel was one of the most 
active members of the church ; — the one who in 
the absence of the pastor officiated as lay-reader, 
and rendered the sermon and made the prayers, 
in the same sonorous, military voice that sug- 
gested the field and the commander. Mrs- 
Davenport, a lady of delicate and refined appear- 
ance, with a certain high-bred manner toned 
down to a kind of motherl}?^ sweetness, received 
the Doctor and Mrs. Cushing with effusion, 
kissed and patted Dolly on the cheek, and re- 
marked what a nice little girl she was getting 
to be ; and the Colonel stooped down and took 
her hand, like an affable eagle making court to a. 
little humming-bird, and hoped she was quite 
well, to which Dolly, quite overcome with awe, 
answered huskily : ‘'Very well, I thank you, sir.” 

Then kind Mrs. Davenport busied herself in 
ordering to the front a certain kittle chair that 


DOLLY GOES INTO COMPANY, 


130 

had a family history. This was duly brought and 
placed for Dolly by old Cato, an ancient negro 
servitor of fhe Colonel’s, who had once served as 
his waiter in the army, and had never recovered 
from the sense of exaltation and dignity conferred 
by this experience. Dolly sat down, and began 
employing her eyes about the high and dainty 
graces of the apartment. The walls were hung 
with paper imported from France and ornamented 
with family portraits by Copley. In the fire 
place, the high brass andirons sustained a magnifi- 
cent fire, snapping and sparkling and blazing in a 
manner gorgeous to behold. Soon Cato came 
in with the tea on a waiter, followed by Venus, 
his \vife, who, with a high white turban on her 
head and a clear-starched white apron in front, 
bore after him a tray laden with delicate rolls, 
sandwiches, and multiplied and tempting varieties 
of cake. Dolly spread her handkerchief in 
her little lap, and comported herself as neaidy 
as possible as she saw the grand ladies 
doing, who, in satin and velvet and point 
lace, were making themselves agreeable, and 
taking their tea with elegant ease. 

The tea parties of Poganuc were not wanting 
in subjects for conversation. It was in rule to 
discuss the current literature of the day, which 
at that- time came from across the water — the last 
articles in the Edinburgh Review, the latest W aver- 


DOLLY GOES INTO CO ME A NY. 


131 

ley novel, the poetry of Moore, Byron, Southey, 
and W ordsworth — all came under review and had 
place of consideration. 

In those days, when newspapers were few and 
scanty, when places were isolated and travel was 
tedious and uncertain, the intellectual life of culti- 
vated people was intense. A book was an event 
in Poganuc. It was heard of first across the 
ocean, and watched for, as one watches for the 
rising of a new planet. While the English packet 
was slowly laboring over, bearing it to our shores, 
expectation was rising, and when the book was to 
be found in the city book stores an early copy 
generally found its way to the elite circle of 
Poganuc. 

Never in this day — generation of jaded and 
sated literary appetite — will any one know the 
fresh and eager joy, the vivid sensation of delight 
with which a poem like “ The Lady of the Lake,” 
a novel like “ Ivanhoe,” was received in lonely 
mountain towns by a people eager for a new 
mental excitement. The young folks called the 
rocks and glens and rivers of their romantic 
region by names borrowed from Scott; they 
clambered among the crags of Benvenue and 
sailed on the bosom of Loch Katrine. 

The students in the law offices and the young 
ladies of the first families had their reading circles 
and their literary partialities — some being parti- 


132 


DOLLY GOES INTO COMPANY, 


sans of Byron, some of Scott, etc. — and there was 
much innocent spouting of poetry. There were 
promising youths who tied their open shirt 
collars with a black ribbon, and professed disgust 
at the hollow state of human happiness in general, 
and there were compassionate young ladies who 
considered the said young men all the more inter- 
esting for this state of mysterious desolation, and 
often succeeded in the work of consoling them. 
It must be remarked, however, that the present 
gathering was a married people’s party, and the 
number of young men and maidens was limited 
to the immediate family connections. The young 
people had their parties, with the same general 
decorum, where the conversation was led by 
them. In the elderly circles all these literary 
and social topics came under discussion. Occas- 
ionally Judge Belcher, who was an authority 
in literary criticism, would hold the ear of the 
drawing-room while he ran a parallel between 
the dramatic handling of Scott’s characters as 
compared with those of Shakespeare, or gave 
an analysis of the principles of the Lake 
School of Poetry. The Judge was an ad- 
mirable talker, and people in general liked 
to hear him quite as well as he liked to hear 
himself, and so his monologues proceeded 
nem, con. 

On this particular evening, however, liter- 


DOLLY GOES INTO COMPANY. 


133 


ature was forgotten in the eagerness of politics. 
The news from the state elections was not in 
those days spread by telegraph, it lumbered up 
in stages, and was recorded at most in weekly 
papers; but enough had come to light to make 
the Poganuc citizens aware that the State of 
Connecticut had at last been revolutionized, and 
gone from the Federalists to the Democrats. 

Judge Belcher declaimed upon the subject in 
language which made the very hair rise upon 
Dolly’s head. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, addressing Dn Cushing; I 
consider this as the ruin of the State of Con- 
necticut! It’s the triumph of the lower orders; 
the reign of ‘ sans culotte-ism ’ begun. In my 
opinion, sir, we are over a volcano ; I should 
not be suprised, sir, at an explosion that will 
blow up all our institutions I ” 

Dolly’s eyes grew larger and larger^ although 
she was a little comforted to observe the Judge 
carefully selecting a particular variety of cake that 
he was fond of, and helping himself to a third cup 
of tea in the very midst of these shocking pi'Og- 
nostications. 

Dolly had not then learned the ease and suavity 
of mind with which both then and ever since 
people at tea drinkings and other social recrea- 
tions declare their conviction that the country is 
going to ruin. It never appears to have any im- 


134 


DOLLY GOES INTO COMPANY, 


mediate effect upon the appetite. Dolly looked 
at her father, and thought he assented with some- 
what of a saddened air ; and Mrs. Davenport 
looked concerned; and Mrs. Judge Gridley said 
it was a very dark providence why such things 
were permitted, but a little while after was com- 
mending the delicacy of the cake, and saying she 
must inquire of Venus about her peculiar mode 
of confection. 

Judge Gridley — a white-haired, lively old 
gentleman with bright eyes, who wore the old- 
fashioned small-clothes, knee-buckles, silk stock- 
ings and low shoes — had fixed his eyes upon 
Dolly for some time, and now crossing the room 
drew her with him into a corner, saying : “ Come, 
now. Miss Dolly, you and I are old friends, you 
know. What do you think of all these things?” 

“ Oh, Fm so glad you came,” said Dolly, with 
a long sigh of relief. I hoped you would, 
because mamma said I mustn’t talk unless some- 
body spoke to me, and I do so want to know all 
about those dreadful things. What is a volcano? 
Please tell me!” 

Why, my little Puss,” he said, lifting her in 
his lap and twining her curls round his finger, 
“what do you want to know that for?” 

“ Because I heard Judge Belcher say that we 
were all over a volcano and it would blow us all 
up some day. Is it like powder?” 


DOLLY GOES INTO COMPANY. 


135 


You dear little soul! don’t you trouble your 
head about what Judge Belcher says. He uses 
strong language. He only means that the Demo- 
crats will govern the state.” 

‘And are they so dreadfully wicked?” asked 
Dolly. “ I want to tell you something” — and 
Dolly whispered, “ Bessie Lewis’s father is a 
Democrat, and yet they don’t seem like wicked 
people.” 

“No, my dear; when you grow up you will 
learn that there are good people in every party.” 

“ Then you don’t think Bessie’s father is a bad 
man?” said Dolly. “ I’m so glad!” 

“ No ; he’s a good man in a bad party ; that is 
what I think.” 

“ I wish you’d talk to him and tell him not to 
do all these dreadful things, and upset the state,” 
said Dolly. “ I thought the other night I would ; 
but I’m only a little girl, you know; he wouldn’t 
mind me. If I was a grown-up woman I would,” 
she said, with her cheeks flushing and her eyes 
kindling. 

Judge Gridley laughed softly to himself and 
stroked her head. 

“ When you are a grown-up woman I don’t 
doubt you can make men do almost anything you 
please, but I don’t think it would do any good 
for 7He to talk to General Lewis ; and now, little 
Curly-wurly, don’t bother your pretty head 


DOLLY GOES INTO COMPANY. 


136 

about politics. Neither party will turn the world 
upside down. There’s a good God above us all, 
my little girl, that takes care of our country, and 
he will bring good out of evil. So now don’t 
you worry.” 

I’m afraid. Judge Gridley, that Doily is troub- 
ling you,” said Mrs. Cushing, coming up. 

“ Oh, dear me ! madame, no ; Miss Dolly and 
I are old acquaintances. We have the best pos- 
sible understanding.” 

But just then, resounding clear and loud 
through the windy March air, came the pealing 
notes of the nine o’clock bell, and an immediate 
rustle of dresses, and rising, and shaking of 
hands, and cutting short of stories, and uttering 
last words followed. 

For though not exactly backed by the ar- 
bitrary power which enforced the celebrated 
curfew, yet the nine o’clock bell was one of the 
authoritative institutions of New England ; and 
at its sound all obediently set their faces home- 
ward, to rake up house-fires, put out candles, 
and say their prayers before going to rest. 

Old Captain Skeggs, a worn-out revolutionary 
soldier, no longer good for hard service, had 
this commanding post in Poganuc, and no mat- 
ter how high blew the wind, how fiercely raged 
the storm, the captain in his white woolen great 
coat, with three little capes to it, stamped his 


DOLLY GOES INTO COMEAN Y. 


137 


way through the snow, pulled valiantly on the 
rope, and let all the hills and valleys of Poganuc 
know that the hour of rest had come. Then, 
if it were a young people’s party, each young 
man chose out his maiden and asked the pleasure 
of seeing her home ; and in the clear frosty night 
and under the silent stars many a word was said 
that could not be said by candle-light indoors : — 
whereof in time came life-long results. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


COLONEL DAVENPORT RELATES HIS EXPERIENCES. 

FEW days after the tea-party, Colonel 
and Mrs. Davenport came to take tea 
at the parsonage. It was an engage- 
ment of long standing, and eagerly 
looked forward to by the children, who with one 
accord begged that they might be allowed to 
sit up and hear the Colonel’s stories. 

For, stories of the war it was known the 
Colonel could tell ; the fame of them hovered in 
vague traditions on the hills and valleys of Pog- 
anuc, and whenever he was to be in the circle it 
was always in the programme of hope that he 
might be stimulated and drawn out to tell of 
some of the stirring scenes of his camp-life. 

In a general way, too, the children were always 
glad to have company. The preparations had a 
festive and joyous air to their minds. Mrs. Cush- 
ing then took possession of the kitchen in person, 
and various appetizing and suggestive dainties 
and condiments stood about in startling profusion. 

138 



COLONEL DAVENPORT^ S EXPERIENCES. 139 

Dolly and the boys stoned raisins, pounded cinna- 
mon, grated nutmegs and beat eggs with enthusi- 
asm, while Nabby heated the oven and performed 
the part of assistant priestess in high and solemn 
mysteries. Among her many virtues and graces, 
Mrs. Cushing had one recommendation for a 
country minister’s wife which commanded uni- 
versal respect: she could make cake. Yea, more, 
she could make such cake as nobody else could 
make — not even Colonel Davenport’s Venus. 

So the children had stoned raisins, without eat- 
ing more than the natural tribute to be expected 
in such cases ; they had been allowed in per- 
quisites a stick of cinnamon apiece ; and the 
pound-cake, the sponge-cake, the fruit-cake and the 
tea-rusks were each in their kind a perfect success. 

During tea-time every word uttered by the 
Colonel was eagerly watched by attentive and 
much-desiring ears ; but as yet no story came. 
The vivacify imparted by two or three cups of 
the best tea was all spent in denunciations of the 
Democrats, their schemes, designs and dangers to 
the country, when the Colonel and Dr. Cushing 
seemed to vie with each other in the vigor and 
intensity of their prognostigations of evil. 

But after tea there came the genial hour of the 
social sit-down in front of the andirons, when the 
candles we e duly snuffed, and the big fore-stick had 
burned down to glowing coals, and the shadows 


140 COLONEL DAVENPORT’S EXPERIENCES, 

played in uncertain flashes up and down the walls 
of the fire-lighted room; and then the Colonel’s 
mind began traveling a road hopeful to his listen- 
ing auditors. 

From Democracy to Jefferson, from Jefferson 
to France and the French Revolution, the conver- 
sation led by easy gradations, and thence to the 
superior success of our own Revolution — from 
La Fayette to Washington. 

Now, the feeling of the Doctor and of his 
whole family for General Washington was to the 
full as intense as that of the ancient Israelites for 
Moses. They were never tired of hearing the 
smallest particular about him — how he looked ; 
how he walked ; what he wore ; the exact shade 
of his eyes ; the least word that ever dropped 
from his lips. 

“ You have no doubt whatever that the General 
was a religious man?” said the Doctor, pro- 
pounding what was ever his most anxious inquiry 
with regard to one who had entered on the In- 
visible Verities. 

“ Not a doubt, sir,” was the Colonel’s reply, in 
those ringing and decisive tones which were 
characteristic of him. 

“ I have always heard,” pursued the Doctor, 
'‘that he was eminently a man of prayer.” 

“ Eminently so,” said the Colonel. “ The Gen- 
eral, sir, was a communicant in the Episcopal 


COLONEL DAVENPORT'S EXPERIENCES. 14 1 

Church, a firm believer in Christianity, and I 
think he was sustained in all the trying emer- 
gencies of the war by his faith in his God. That, 
sir, I have not a doubt of.” 

That has always been my belief,” said the 
Doctor ; “ but I am glad to hear you say so.” 

“ Yes, sir,” added the Colonel with energy ; 

his influence in the army was openly and de- 
cidedly that of a Christian. You recollect his 
general order at one time, excusing soldiers and 
sailors from fatigue-duty on Sunday, that they 
might have time to attend religious service, and 
his remarks upon the custom of profane swear- 
ing in the army ; how he reminded both officers 
and men that ‘We could have but little hope of 
the blessing of Heaven upon our arms, if we insult 
it by impiety.’ ” 

“Yes, I remember all that,” said the Doctor. 
“ Nothing could have been better worded. It 
must have had an immense influence. But does 
it not seem astonishing that a military man, 
going through the terrible scenes that he did, 
should never have been tempted to profanity ? I 
declare,” said the Doctor, musingly, “ I would 
not answer for myself. There were times in that 
history when without preventing grace I am 
quite sure / could not have held myself in.” 

“ Well, sir, since you speak on that subject,” 
said the Colonel, “ I am free to say that, on one 


142 COLONEL DAV'ENPORT'S EXPERIENCES. 

occasion I saw our General carried beyond him- 
self. I have often thought I would like to tell you 
the circumstances, Doctor.” 

There was a little edging towards the Colonel, 
both of the Doctor and Mrs. Cushing, as the 
Colonel, looking dreamily far into the hickory 
coals, said : 

“ Yes, sir; that was one of those critical times 
in our war, when it turned on the events of a few 
hours whether we had been the nation we are 
now, or trodden down under the British heel ; 
whether Washington had been made President 
of the United States, or hanged for treason. It 
was at the time of the Long Island retreat.” 

“And you were there?” asked Dr. Cushing. 
The Doctor knew very well that the Colonel was 
there, and was eager to draw him out. 

“There? Sir, indeed I was,” answered the 
Colonel. “ I shall never forget it to my dying day. 
We had been fighting all day at terrible odds, our 
men falling all around us like leaves, and the 
British pressing close upon us ; so close, that when 
it grew dark we could hear every movement in 
their camp, every sound of pick, or shovel, or gun. 
Our men had got behind their intrenchments, and 
there the enemy stopped pursuing. What a night 
that was! We were deadly tired — dispirited as 
only fellows can be that have seen their friends 
shot down about them ; no tents, no shelter, and 


COLONEL DAVENPORT'S EXPERIENCES. 143 

the sentries of the victorious enemy only a 
quarter of a mile from our lines. Nearly two 
thousand, out of the five thousand men we 
had in the fight, were killed, wounded, or 
missing. Well, it was a terribly anxious night 
for Washington; for what had we to expect, 
next day? He went round at four o’clock in 
the morning to see to us and speak a word 
of cheer here and there. It was a cold, driz- 
zling, gloomy, rainy morning, but we could 
see through the fog a large encampment ; and 
they were intrenching themselves, though the 
rain drove them into their tents. The day ad- 
vanced, continuing rainy and stormy, and they 
made no move to attack us. Our scouts, that 
were out watching the motions of the enemy 
down at Red Hook, got a peep at the shipping at 
Staten Island and saw at once that there was 
a movement and bustle there, as if there were 
something on foot ; and they got the idea that the 
enemy were planning at turn of tide to come up 
behind us in the East River, and cut us off from 
the army in New York. Sir, that was just what 
they were meaning to do; and, if they had, we 
should have been caught there like rats in a trap, 
the war would have been ended, and Washington 
hanged. The party hurried back to tell the 
General. A council of war was held, and it was 
decided that we all must cross to New York that 


144 COLONEL DAVENPORT* S EXPERIENCES, 

very night. There it was ; nine thousand men, with 
all our baggage and artillerv, to steal away in the 
night from that great army, and they so near that 
we could hear every dog that barked or man that 
whistled among- them.” 

“ How wide was the place to be crossed ? ” 
asked the Doctor. 

“ Full three-quarters of a mile, sir, and with a 
rapid tide sweeping through. As the Lord’s 
providence would have it, Colonel Glover had 
just come in that day with his Marblehead regi- 
ment — thirteen hundred fishermen and sailors, 
such as the world cannot equal.” 

“Glorious!” exclaimed the Doctor. “God bless 
the Marblehead boys!” 

“Yes, they saved us, under God and the Gen- 
eral ; we never could have crossed without them. 

“ Well, the General sent to the Quartermaster 
to impress all the boats and transports of every 
kind that could be got, and have them ready 
by evening. By eight o’clock they were all at 
Brooklyn, and under the management of the 
Marblehead regiment. Word was given out in 
the army to be prepared for a night attack, and 
the poor fellows, tired as they were, were all up 
and ready to move on order. 

“ Then Washington ordered Gen. Mifflin’s bri- 
gade, including what remained of our regiment, 
to stay and keep the intrenchments with guards 


COLONEL DAVENPORT* S EXPERIENCES. 145 

and patrols and sentinels posted, to make the 
enemy believe we were there, while the rest all 
moved down to the water and embarked. 

Now I tell you, sir, it was a good deal harder 
to stand there than to be moving just then. We 
were wide awake and we counted the minutes. 
It is always longer to those who wait than to 
those who work. The men were true as steel, 
but, poor fellows, there is a limit to human en- 
durance, and they got pretty restive and nervous. 
So, between you and me, did we officers too. 
Standing still in such a danger is a thousand 
times worse than fighting. 

Finally the men began to growl and mutter ; 
it was all we could do to hold them ; they were 
sure the army had crossed— word must have been 
sent to them! So, finally, when Washington’s 
aid misunderstood his order and came running 
to say that we were to move down, we started on 
the double-quick and got to the shore. There 
we found that the tide had turned, a strong north- 
east wind was blowing, the boats had been brought 
without oars enough to convey the troops, the 
sail -boats were unable to make head against 
wind and tide, and full half the army were still 
on Long Island shore! 

‘‘Washington stood there amid the confusion 
and perplexity — when, in the midst of his troub- 
les, down we all came. 


146 COLONEL DAVENPORT'S EXPERIENCES. 

‘‘ Sir, I never saw a mortal being look as Gen. 
Washington looked at us. He ordered us back 
with a voice like thunder, and I never heard such 
a terrific volley of curses as he poured out upon 
us when the men hesitated. Sir, that man was 
so dreadful that we all turned and ran. We had 
rather face the judgment-day than face him. Up- 
on my soul, I thought when I turned back that 
I was going straight into eternity, but I had 
rather face death than him.” 

'‘And he swore 

" Indeed he did — but it was not profane swear- 
ing; it was not taking God’s name in vain, for 
it sent us back as if we had been chased by 
lightning. It was an awful hour, and he saw it ; 
it was life or death ; country or no country.” 

" Sir,” said Dr. Cushing, starting up and pac- 
ing the room, " it was the oath of the Lord ! It 
would be profane to call it swearing.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the Colonel, “you remember 
that one time Moses threw down both tables of 
the law and broke them, and the Lord did not 
reprove him.” 

“ Exactly,” answered the Doctor ; “ he saw his 
nation going to ruin and forgot all else to save 
them. The Lord knows how to distinguish.” 

“ But, sir,” said the Colonel, “ I never tell this 
except to the initiated. No man who saw Washn 
ington then dared ever to allude to it afterward. 


COLONEL DAVENPORT'S EXPERIENCES, 147 

He was habitually so calm, so collected, so self- 
contained, that this outburst was the more ter- 
rific. Whatever he felt about it was settled 
between him and his Maker. No man ever took 
account with him.” 

Then followed a few moments of silence, when 
Dolly emerged from a dark corner — her cheeks 
very much flushed, her eyes very wide and 
bright — and, pressing up to the Colonel’s knee, 
said eagerly : “ But, oh please, sir, what became 

of you and the men?” 

The Colonel looked down and smiled as he 
lifted Dolly on his knee. Why, my little girl, 
here I am, you see ; I wasn’t killed after all.” 

“ But did you really go clear back ?” asked 
Dolly. 

‘‘ Yes, my dear, we all went back and staid 
two or three hours ; and when it came morning 
we made believe to be the whole army. We 
made our fires and we got our breakfasts and we 
whistled and talked and made all the stir we 
could, but as the good Lord would have it there 
was such a thick fog that you could not see your 
hand before your face. You see that while the 
fog hung over the island and covered us, it was 
all clear down by the river.” 

“ Why, that’s just the way it was when they 
crossed the Red Sea,” said Dolly, eagerly; 
“wasn’t it. Papa?” 


1^8 COLONEL DAVENPORT- S EXPERIENCES, 

‘‘Something so, my dear,” said her father; 
but her mother made her a sign not to talk. 

“ How long did it take to do the whole thing?” 

“ Well, thanks to those Marblehead boys, by 
daybreak the greater part of the army were safe 
on the New York side. A little after daylight 
we marched off quietly and went down to the 
ferry. Washington was still there, and we 
begged him to go in the first boat; but no, he 
was immovable. He saw us all off, and went 
himself in the very last boat, after every man 
was in.” 

“What a glorious fellow!” said the Doctor. 

“Please, sir,” said Will, who, with distended 
eyes, had been listening, “ what did the British 
say when they found out?” 

The Colonel laid his head back and gave a 
hearty laugh. 

“They had a message sent them, by a Tory 
woman down by the ferry, what was going on. 
She sent her black servant, and he got through 
our American lines but was stopped by the Hes- 
sians, who could not understand his gibberish, 
and so kept him till long after all was over. 
Then a British officer overhauled him and was 
pretty well amazed at his story. He gave the 
alarm, and General Howe’s aid-de-camp, with a 
body of men, climbed over the intrenchments 
and found all deserted. They hurried down to 


COLONEL DAVENPORT'S EXPERIENCES. 149 

the landing just in time to see the rear boats 
half way across the river.” 

^‘Well, that is almost like the crossing of the 
Red Sea,” said the Doctor. 

Oh, weren’t the British furious !” cried Bill. 

“Yes, they did fire away at the boats, and one 
straggling boat they hit and forced the men to 
return; but it turned out only three vagabonds 
that had come to plunder.” 

It was after the nine o’clock bell had dismissed 
the Colonel and his lady that the Doctor noticed 
the wide and radiant eyes of little Dolly and 
his boys. 

“My children,” he said, “to use the name of 
the great God solemnly and earnestly for a greaf 
and noble purpose is not to ‘swear.’ Swearing 
is taking God’s holy name in vain, in a trifling 
way, for a trivial purpose — a thing which our 
great and good general never did. But this 
story I would rather you would never repeat. 
It might not be understood.” 

“Certainly,” said Bill, with proud gravity; 
“ common boys wouldn’t understand — and, Dolly, 
don t you tell.” 

“Of course I shouldn’t,” said Dolly. “I never 
shall tell even Nabby, nor Bessie, nor anybody.” 

And afterwards, m the family circle, when 
General Washington was spoken of, the children 
looked on one another with grave importance, 
as the trusted depositaries of a state secret. 


CHAPTER XTV. 


THE PUZZLE OF POGANUC. 



OTWITHSTANDING the apparition 
of the blue-bird and the sanguine hopes 
of the boys, the winter yet refused to 
quit the field. Where these early blue- 
birds go to, that come to cheer desponding hearts 
in arctic regions like Poganuc, is more than one 
can say. Birds’ wings are wonderful little affairs, 
and may carry them many hundred southward 
miles in a day. Dolly, however, had her own 
theory about it, and that was that the bird went 
right up into heaven, and there waited till all the 
snow-storms were over. 

Certain it was that the Poganuc people, after 
two promising days of thaw, did not fall short of 
that '‘six weeks’ sledding in March” which has 
come to be proverbial. 

The thaw, which had dripped from icicles and 
melted from snow-banks, froze stiffer than ever, 
and then there came a two days’ snow-storm— ♦ 
good, big, honest snow-feathers, that fell and fell 
all day and all night, till all the houses wore great 



THE PUZZLE OF POGANUC, 


151 

white night-caps, the paths in front of all the 
house-doors had to be shoveled out again, and 
the farmers with their sleds turned out to break 
roads. 

The Doctor was planning a tour in his sleigh to 
fulfill his monthly round of visiting the schools. 

Schools there always were in every district, 
from the time the first log school-house had 
been erected in the forests, down to the days 
when, as now, the school-house is a comfortable, 
well-furnished building. 

In the Doctor’s day the common schoolhouses 
were little, mean shanties, built in the cheapest 
possible manner, consisting of one small room and 
a vestibule for hanging bonnets, hats, and dinner 
baskets. In winter, a box-stove, the pipe of 
which passed through one of the windows, gave 
warmth. Blackboards were unknown. The 
teacher’s care was simply to hear reading in the 
Bible and the “Columbian Orator;” to set copies 
in ruled copy-books; to set “sums” from “ Daboll’s 
Arithmetic;” to teach parsing from “Murray’s 
Grammar;” to mend pens, and to ferule and 
thrash disorderly scholars. In the summer 
months, when the big boys worked in the fields, 
a woman generally held sway, and taught knit- 
ting and sewing to the girls. On Saturday all 
recited the “Assembly’s Catechism,” and once a 
month the minister, and sometimes his wife, came 


THE PUZZLE OF POGANUC. 


152 

in to hear and commend the progress of the 
scholars. 

One of the troubles of a minister in those times 
was so to hold the balance as to keep down neigh- 
borhood quarrels; — not an easy matter among a 
race strong, opinionated, and who, having little 
variety in life, rather liked the stimulus of dis- 
agreements. A good quarrel was a sort of moral 
whetstone, always on hand for the sharpening of 
their wits. 

Such a quarrel had stood for some two or three 
years past in regard to the position of the North 
Poganuc schoolhouse. It had unfortunately been 
first located on a high, slippery, windy hill, very 
uncomfortable of access in the winter months, 
and equally hot and cheerless in summer. Sub- 
sequently, the building of several new farm- 
houses had carried most of the children a con- 
siderable distance away, and occasioned increased 
sense of inconvenience. 

The thing had been talked of and discussed in 
several successive town-meetings, but no vote 
could be got to change tke position of the school- 
house. Zeph Higgins was one of the most de- 
cided in stating what ought to be done and where 
the school-house ought to stand ; but, unfor- 
tunately, Zeph’s mode of arguing a question 
was such as to rouse all the existing combative- 
ness in those whom he sought to convince. No 


THE PUZZLE OF POGANUO 


153 


more likely mode to ruin a motion in town- 
meeting than to get Zeph interested to push it. 
In Poganuc, as elsewhere, there were those in 
town-meeting that voted on the principle stated 
by the immortal Bird o’ Freedom Sawin: 

“ I take the side that isn’t took 
By them consarned teetotalers.” 

In the same manner, Zeph’a neighbors were for 
the most ' part inclined in town meeting, irre- 
spective of any other consideration, to take the 
side he didn’t take. 

Kiel Jones had often been heard to express 
the opinion that, Ef Zeph Higgins would jest 
shet up his gash in town-meetin’, that air 
school-house could be moved fast enough; but 
the minit that Dr. Cushing had been round, and 
got folks kind o’ slicked down and peaceable, 
Zeph would git up and stroke ’em all back’ards 
and git their dander up agin. Folks warn’t 
a-goin’ to be druv ; and Zeph was allers fer 
drivin’.” 

The subject of an approaching town-meeting 
was beginning to loom dimly in the discussions 
of the village. One characteristic of the Yankee 
mind, as developed in those days, was the slow- 
ness and deliberation with which it arrived at 
any purpose or conclusion. This was not merely 
in general movements, but in particular ones 
also. Did the Widow Brown contemplate turn- 


154 


THE PUZZLE OF POGANUC, 


ing her back buttery into a sink-room, she 
forthwith went over to the nearest matrons of 
her vicinity, and announced that she was “ talkin’ 
about movin’ her sink,” and the movement in 
all its branches and bearings was discussed in 
private session. That was step No. i. Then all 
the women at the next quilting, or tea-drinking, 
heard that Widow Brown was “ talking about 
changing her sink,” and they talked about it. 
Then Seth Chickering, the neighborhood carpen- 
ter, was called into consultation, and came and 
investigated the premises, and reported — first to 
the widow and second to his wife, who told all 
the other women what “ Seth, he said,” etc. 
The talking process continued indefinitely, unless 
some active Providential dispensation brought it 
to an end. 

The same process was repeated when Mrs. 
Slocum thought of investing in a new winter 
cloak; the idea in those days prevailing that a 
winter cloak was a thing never but once in a life- 
time to be bought, and after that to endure for all 
generations, the important article must not be 
bought lightly or unadvisedly. When Deacon 
Dickenson proposed to build a new back parlor 
on his house and to re-shingle the roof, the talking 
and discussion lasted six months, and threw the 
whole neighborhood into commotion ; carpenters 
came before daybreak and roosted on the fences, 


THE PUZZLE OF POG^iy/UC, 


155 


and at odd times as they found leisure, at all hours 
of the day, gathered together, and Seth Chicker- 
ing took the opinions of Sam Parmelee and Jake 
Peters; and all Mrs. Dickenson’s female friends 
talked about it, till every shingle, '^very shingle- 
nail and every drop of paint had received a 
separate consideration, and the bargain was, so to 
speak, whittled down to the finest possible point. 

Imagine the delicacies of discussion, then, that 
attended the moving of a schoolhouse at the 
public expense — a schoolhouse in which every- 
body in the neighborhood had a private and 
personal claim — and how like the proceedings of a 
bull in a china shop was the advocacy of a champ- 
ion like Zeph Higgins, and one may see how in- 
finitely extended in this case might be the area of 
“ talkin’ about movin’ that air schoolhouse,'’ and 
how hopelessly distant any decision. The thing 
had already risen on the horizon of Deacon Dick- 
enson’s store, like one of those puzzling stars or 
fractiously disposed heavenly bodies that seem 
created to furnish astronomers with something to 
talk about. 

The fateful period was again coming round ; 
the spring town-meeting was at hand, and more 
than one had been heard to say that Ef that air 
schoolhouse hed to be moved, it oughter be done 
while the sleddin’ was good.” 

In Deacon Dickenson’s store a knot cf the 


THE PUZZLE OF POGANUC. 


156 

talkers were gathered around the stove, having 
a final talk and warm-up previous to starting 
their sleds homeward to their supper of pork- 
and-beans and doughnuts. 

Our mournful friend, Deacon Peasley, sat in his 
usual drooping attitude on a mackerel-keg placed 
conveniently by the stove ; and then, like Beattie’s 
hermit, 

“ . . . his plaining begun. 

Tho’ mournful his spirit, his soul was resigned.” 

“ I’m sure I hope I don’t wanter dictate to the 
Lord, nor nothin, but e/ he should send a turn o’ 
rheumatism on Zeph Higgins, jest afore town- 
meetin’ day — why, seems to me ’twould be a 
marcy to us all.” 

‘‘ I don’t see, fer my part,” said Tim Hawkins, 
“ why folks need to mind what he says ; but they 
do. He’ll do more a^m a motion talkin’ /er it, 
than I can do talkin’ agin it fer a year. I never 
see the beat of him — never.” 

. ^‘Aint there nobody,” said Deacon Peasley, 
caressing his knee, and looking fondly at the stove 
door, “ that could kind o’ go to him, and sort o’ 
set it in order afore him how he benders the very 
thing he’s sot on doin’ ?” 

Guess you don’t know him as I do,” said 
Deacon Dickenson, “or you wouldn’t ’a’ thought 
o’ that.” 

“And now he’s gone in with the Democrats, 


THE PUZZLE OF POGANUC. 


157 


and agin Parson Cushing and the church, it ’ll be 
worse ’n ever,” remarked Tim Hawkins. 

“ Now, there’s Mis’ Higgins,” said the Deacon; 
“ she can’t do nothin’ with him ; he won’t take 
a word from her ; she hez to step round softly 
arter him, a-settin’ things right. Why, Widder 
Brown, that lives up by the huckleberry pastur’- 
lot, was a-tellin’ my wife, last Sunday, how Zeph’s 
turkeys would come a-trampin’ in her mowin’, 
and all she could say and do he wouldn’t keep 
’em to hum. And then when they stole a nest 
there, Zeph he took the eggs and carried ’em off, 
’cause he said the turkeys was hisn. Mis’ Higgins, 
she jest put on her bonnet, and went right over, 
that arternoon, and took the turkey eggs back to 
the widder. Mis’ Brown said Mis’ Higgins didn’t 
say a word, but she looked consid’able — her eyes 
was a-shinin’ and her mouth sort o’ set, as ef she’d 
about come to the eend of her patience.” 

“ Wal,” said Deacon Peasley, I rather wonder 
she durst to do it.” 

“Wal,” said Tim, “my wife sez that there is 
places where Mis’ Higgins jest takes her stand, 
and Zeph has to give in. Ef she gets her back 
agin a text in the Bible, why, she won’t stir from 
it ef he killed her ; c^nd when it comes to that 
Zeph hez to cave in. Come to standin’ — why 
she kin stand longer ’n he kin. I rather ’xpect he 
didn’t try to git back them turkey eggs. Ef he 


THE PUZZLE OF POGANUC, 


158 

did, Mis’ Higgins would ’a’ stood right in the 
road, and he’d ’a’ hed to ’a’ walked over her. 1 
’xpect by this time Zeph knows what he kin 
make her do and what he can’t.” 

“ Wal,” said Hiel Jones, who had just dropped 
in, I tell ye Zeph’s screwed himself into a 
tight place now. That air ’Piscopal parson, he’s 
gret on orderin’ and commandin’, and thinks he 
didn’t come right down from the ’Postles for 
nothin’. He puts his new folks through the drills 
lively, I tell ye ; he’s ben at old Zeph ’cause he 
don’t bow to suit him in the creed — Zeph’s back 
IS stiff as a ramrod, and he jest hates it. Now, 
there’s Mis’ Higgins; shell allers do any thing 
to ’blige anybody, and if the minister wants her 
to make a curtsey, why she does it the best 
she’s able, and Nabby and the boys, they take 
to it ; but it gravels Zeph. Then all this ’ere 
gittin’ up and sittin’ down aggravates him, and 
he comes out o’ church as cross as a bull in 
fly-time.” 

Of course, the laugh was ready at this picture 
of their neighbor’s troubles, and Hiram added : 

‘‘He’ll put it through, though; he won’t go 
back on his tracks, but it’s pikery and worm- 
wood to him, I tell ye. I saw him t’other day, 
after Parson had been speaking to him, come 
out o’ church, and give his boss such a twitch, 
and say ‘Darn ye!’ in a way I knew wa’n’t 


THE PUZZLE OF POGANUC. 


159 


meant for the critter. Zeph don’t swear,” added 
Hiel, “but I will say he can make darn sound 
the most like damn of any man in Poganuc. He’s 
got lots o’ swear in him, that ole feller hez.” 

“ My mother says she remembers when Polly 
Higgins (that is) was the prettiest gal in all the 
deestrict,” said Deacon Peasley. “ She was Polly 
Adams, from Danbury. She came to keep the 
deestrict school, and Zeph he sot his eyes on her, 
and hev her he would; he wouldn’t take ‘No’ for 
an answer ; he didn’t give her no peace till he got 
her.” 

“ Any feller can get a gal that way,” said Hiel, 
with a judicial air. “A gal allers says ‘No’ at 
fust — to get time to think on’t.” 

“Is that the way with Nabby?” asked the 
Deacon, with a wink of superior intelligence. 
Whereat there came a general laugh, and Hiel 
pulled up his coat collar, and, looking as if he 
might say something if delicacy did not forbid, 
suddenly remembered that “ Mother had sent him 
for a quarter of a pound o’ young Hyson.” 

Definite business at once broke up the session, 
and every man, looking out his parcels, mounted 
his sled and wended his way home. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE POGANUC PUZZLE SOLVED. 


EPH Higgins had the spirit of a gen- 
eral. He, too, had his vision of an 
approaching town-meeting, and that 
evening, sitting in his family circle, 
gave out his dictum on the subject: 

“Wal — they’ll hev a town-meetin’ afore long, 
and hev up that air old school’us’ bizness,” he 
said, as he sat facing the blaze of the grand 
kitchen fire. 

Mrs. Higgins sat by in her little splint- 
bottomed rocking-chair, peacefully clicking her 
knitting-needles. Abner sat at her right hand, 
poring over a volume of “ Rollin’s Ancient His- 
tory.” Abel and Jeduthun were playing fox-and- 
goose with grains of corn in the corner, and Tim 
was whittling a goose-poke. 

All looked up at the announcement of this 
much-bruited subject. 

“They never seem to come to anything on that 
subject,” said Mrs. Higgins. “ I wish the school- 
house was better situated ; a great many are kept 
from the prayer meetings there that would come 
if it wasn’t for that windy, slippery hill. The 
160 



THE POGANUC PUZZLE SOLVED. i6i 

last time I went, it was all I could do to get up,” 
she said ; “ and I thought I caught a cold.” 

There’s not the least doubt on’t,” said Zeph, 

and the children are allers catchin’ colds. 
Everybody knows where that air school’us’ 
ought to be. Confounded fools they be, the hull 
lot on ’em ; and, for my part, I’m tired o’ this ’ere 
quarrelin’ and jawin’, and I ain’t a-goin’ to stan’ 
it no longer. It’s a shame and it’s a sin to keep 
up these ’ere quarrels among neighbors, and I’m 
a-goin’ to put a stop to it.” 

It may be imagined that this exordium caused 
a sensation in the family circle. 

Mrs. Higgins opened her meek blue eyes upon 
her husband with a surprised expression ; the 
two boys sat with their game suspended and their 
mouths open, and the goose-poke and “Rollin’s 
History ” were alike abandoned in the pause of 
astonishment. 

^‘To-morrow’s Saturday,” said Zeph; “and Sat- 
urday afternoon there won’t be no school, and I’ll 
jest take the boys, both yoke of oxen and the 
sleds, and go up and move that air school’us’ 
down to the place where’t orter be. I’ll wedge it 
up and settle it good and firm, and that’ll be the 
end on’t. Tain’t no sort o’ use to talk. I’m jest 
a-goin’ to do it.” 

Zeph looked as if he meant it, and his family 
had ceased to think anything impossible that he 


i 62 the poganuc puzzle solved. 

took in hand to do. If he had announced his in- 
tention of blowing up the neighboring crag of 
Bluff Head, and building a castle out of the frag- 
ments, they would have expected to see it done. 

So Zeph took the family Bible, and, in a high- 
pitched and determined voice, read the account of 
Samson carrying off the gates of Gaza, repeated 
his evening prayer, ordered all hands to bed, 
raked up the fire, had all snug and quiet, and 
stepped into bed just as the last stroke of the nine 
o’clock bell was resounding. 

At four o’clock the next afternoon, as Hiel Jones 
was coming in on his high seat on the Poganuc 
stage, whistling cheerily, a sudden new sensation 
struck him. Passing over North Poganuc hill, 
he bethought him of the schoolhouse question, 
and lifted up his eyes, and lo ! no schoolhouse 
was there. For a moment Hiel felt giddy. What 
was the matter with his head? He rubbed his 
eyes, and looked on all the other familiar objects; 
there was the old pine tree, there the great rock, 
but the schoolhouse was gone. The place where 
it had stood was disturbed by tramping of 
many feet, and a broad, smooth trail led down the 
hill. 

“Wal, somebody hez gone and ben and done 
it,” said Hiel, as he whipped up his horses to 
carry the news. 

Farther on, m a convenient spot at the junction 


THE POGANUC PUZZLE SOLVED. 


163 


of three roads, under the shelter of a hill, stood 
the schoolhouse — serene as if it had grown there ; 
while Zeph Higgins and his son x\bner were just 
coming forward on the road toward Hiel, Zeph 
triumphantly whipping his oxen and shouting the 
word of command in an elevated voice. 

Hiel drew to one side, and gave a long whistle. 
“ Je-n^-salem,” he exclaimed, “ ef you hain’t ben 
and done it!” 

Zeph lifted his head with an air of as much 
satisfaction as his hard features could assume, and, 
nodding his head in the direction of the school- 
house, said : 

“ Yis — there 'tis ! ” 

Hiel laid his head back, and burst into a loud, 
prolonged laugh, in which he was joined by 
Abner and the boys. 

“ Don’t see nothin’ to laugh at,” said Zeph, 
with grim satisfaction. “ Fact is, I can t hev 
these ’ere quarrels — and I won't hev ’em. That 
air’s the place for that school us , and iFs got to 
stand there, and that’s the eend on’t. Come, boys, 
hurry home ; mother’s beans will be a-gettm cold, 
Qee— g’lang!” and the black whip cracked over 
the back of the ox-team. 

Hiel was a made man. He had in possession 
an astounding piece of intelligence, that nobody 
knew but himself, and he meant to make the 
most of it. 


THE POGANUC PUZZLE SOLVED. 


164 

He hurried first to Deacon Peasley’s store, 
where quite a number were sitting round the 
stove with their Saturday night purchases. In 
burst Hiel : 

“ Wal, that air North Poganuc school’us’ is 
moved, and settled down under the hills by the 
cross-road.” 

The circle looked for a moment perfectly 
astounded and stupefied. 

^‘You don’t say so!” 

“Dew tell!” 

“ Don’t believe ye.” 

“ Wal, ye kin all go and see. I came by, jest 
half an hour ago, and see it with my own eyes, 
and Zeph Higgins and his boys a-drivin’ off with 
their sleds and oxenV^ I tell ye that air thing 
is jest done. I’m a-goin’ to tell Dr. Cushing’s 
folks.” 

Poganuc People had something to talk about 
now, in good earnest. 

Hiel stopped his stage at the parson’s door, and 
Dr„ Cushing, expecting some bundle from Boston, 
came out to the gate. 

“ Doctor, thought I’d jest stop and tell ye that 
the North Poganuc school’us’ hez ben moved 
to the cross-roads, down under the hill — thought 
ye’d like to hear it.” 

The Doctor’s exclamation and uplifted hands 
brought to the door Mrs. Cushing and Dolly and 


THE POGANUC PUZZLE SOLVED. 


165 

the two boys, with Nabby. Hiel was in his 
glory, and recounted all the circumstances with 
great prolixity, the Doctor and Mrs. Cushing 
and all his audience laughing at his vigorous 
narrative. 

“ Yis,” said Hiel, “ he said he wa’n’t a-goin’ to 
hev no more quarrelin’ about it ; everybody 
knew the schoolus’ ought to be there, and there 
’twas. It was all wedged up tight and stiddy, 
and the stove in it, and the pipe stickin’ out o’ 
the winder, all nateral as could be, and he jest 
goin’ off home, as ef nothin’ hed happened.” 

Well, if that ain’t jest like father!” exclaimed 
Nabby, with an air of pride. “If he wants a 
thing done he will do it.” 

“ Certainly this time he has done a good thing,” 
said the Doctor ; “ and for my part I’m obliged to 
him. I suppose the spirit of the Lord came on 
him, as it did on Samson.” 

And for weeks and months thereafter, there 
was abundance of talking and every variety of 
opinion expressed as to the propriety of Zeph’s 
coup d'^taty but nobody, man, woman, or child, 
ever proposed to move the schoolhouse back 
again. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE POGANUC PARSONAGE. 

HE parsonage was a wide, roomy, windy 
edifice that seemed to have been built 
by a succession of after-thoughts. It 
was at first a model New England 
house, built around a great brick chimney, which 
ran up like a light-house in the center of the 
square roof. Then came, m course of time, a 
side-wing which had another chimney and an- 
other suite of rooms. A kitchen grew out on 
another side, and out of the kitchen a sink- 
room, and out of the sink-room a wood-house, 
and out of the wood-house a carriage-house, and 
so on with a gradually lessening succession of 
out-buildings. 

New England houses have been said by a 
shrewd observer to be constructed on the model 
of a telescope; compartment after compartment, 
lessening in size, and all under one cover. 

But in the climate where the business of one 
half of the year is to provide fuel for the other 
half, such a style of domestic architecture be- 
comes convenient. During the long winter 

i66 



THE POGANUC PARSONAGE. 167 

months everything was under cover, giving grand 
scope for the children to play. 

When the boys were graciously disposed to 
Dolly, she had a deal of gctbd fun with them in 
the long range of the divers sheds. They made 
themselves houses, castles and fortresses in the 
wood-pile, and played at giving parties and 
entertainments, at which Spring and the cat also 
assisted in silent and subsidiary parts. 

Sometimes they held town-meetings or voting- 
days, in which the Democrats got their dues 
in speeches that might have struck terror to 
their souls had they heard them. At other times 
they held religious meetings, and sung hymns 
and preached, on which occasions Dolly had been 
known to fall to exhorting with a degree of 
fervor and a fluency in reciting texts of Script- 
ure which for the time produced quite an effect 
on her auditors, and led Nabby, who listened 
behind tne door, to say to Mrs. Cushing that 
‘ that air child was smarter than was good for 
her; that she’d either die young or else come 
to suthin’ one of these days’ — a proposition as 
to which there could not rationally be any dif- 
ference of opinion. 

The parsonage had also the advantage of three 
garrets — splendid ground for little people. There 
was first the garret over the kitchen, the floors 
of which in the fall were covered with stores of 


i68 the POGANUC PARSONAGE. 

yellow pumpkins, fragrant heaps of quinces, and 
less fragrant spread of onions. There were bins 
of shelled corn and of oats, and, as in every other 
garret in the house, there were also barrels of old 
sermons and old family papers. But most stimu- 
lating to the imagination of all the features of 
this place was the smoke-house, which was a 
wide, deep chasm made in the kitchen chimney, 
where the Parson’s hams and dried beef were 
cured. Its door, which opened into this garret, 
glistened with condensed creosote, a rumbling 
sound was heard there, and loud crackling rever- 
berated within. Sometimes Dolly would open 
the door and peer in fearfully as long as her 
eyes could bear the smoke, and think with a 
shudder of a certain passage in John Bunyan, 
which reads : 

“ Then I saw in my dream that the shepherds 
had them to another place, in a bottom, where 
was a door in the side of a hill ; and they opened 
the door and bid them look in. They looked in, 
therefore, and saw that within it was dark and 
smoky ; they also thought that they heard a rum- 
bling, noise as of fire and a cry of some torment- 
ed, and that they smelt the scent of brimstone. 
Then said Christian, What means this? 'I’he 
shepherds told them. This is a by-way to Hell, 
a way that hypocrites go in at, namely, such as 
sell theif birthright with Esau ; such as sell their 


THE POGANUC PARSONAGE, 


169 

Master with Judas ; such as lie and dissemble 
with Ananias and Sapphira his wife.” 

Dolly shivered when she thought of this, and 
was glad when Nabby would come up behind 
and, with her strong hands, seize and whirl her 
away, remarking, 

‘‘ Dolly Cushing, what won’t you be into next, 
I want ter know?” And then she would pro- 
ceed to demonstrate the mundane and earthly 
character of the receptacle by drawing from it 
a very terrestrial and substantial ham. 

Garret number two was over the central por- 
tion of the original house. There were vast 
heaps of golden corn on the cob, spread upon 
sheets. There were piles of bed-quilts and com- 
forters, and chests of blankets. There were rows 
and ranges of old bonnets and old hats, that 
seemed to nod mysteriously from their nails. 
There were old spinning-wheels, an old clock, 
old arm-chairs, and old pictures, snuffy and 
grim, and more barrels of sermons. There also 
were the boys’ cabinets of mineralogical speci- 
mens ; for the Academy teacher was strong on 
geology, and took his boys on long tramps with 
stone-hammers on their shoulders, and they used 
to discuss with great unction to Dolly of tourma- 
line, and hornblende, and mica, and quartz, and 
feldspar, delighted to exhibit before her their 
scientific superiority. 


THE POGANUC PARSONAGE, 


170 

This garret was a favorite resort of the chil- 
dren, and the laws of the Parsonage requiring 
everything to be always in order were conve- 
niently mitigated and abridged in favor of this 
one spot, where it was so convenient to let the 
whole noisy brood range when their presence 
disturbed the order below. 

There the boys whittled and made windmills 
and boats, and rabbit-traps, and whistles with 
which they whistled grievously at unexpected 
and startling moments, and this always led 
to their mother telling them that she was ‘‘as- 
tonished” at them, or to her asking. How many 
times she must say whistling was not allowed in 
the house? 

Perhaps among other subjects of speculative 
inquiry it may have occurred to Mrs. Cushing 
to wonder why nature, having gifted boys in 
their own proper lungs with such noise-producing 
power, should also come to their assistance with 
so many noise-producing instruments. There 
were all the squash- vines in the garden offering 
trumpets ready made ; there was the elder-bush, 
growing whistle-wood by the yard ; and then the 
gigantic whistles that could be mariufactured 
from willow, and poplar, and black alder were 
mysteries distressing to contemplate. 

One corner of the garret was reserved safe 
from the rummaging of the children, and there 


THE POGANUC PARSONAGE. 


171 


hung in order the dried herbs, which formed the 
pharmacopoeia of those early days. There were 
catnip, and boneset, and elder-blow, and hard- 
back, and rosemary, and tansy, and pennyroyal, 
all gathered at the right time of the moon, 
dried and sorted and tied in bundles, hanging 
from their different nails — those canonized floral 
saints, which when living filled the air with odors 
of health and sweetness, and whose very mor- 
tal remains and dry bones were supposed to 
have healing virtues. Some of Dolly’s happiest 
hours were those long sunny, joyous, Saturday 
afternoons in which many of these stores were 
gathered, when she rushed through the lush, 
long grass, along the borders of mossy old stone 
fences, and pulled down starry constellations of 
elder blossoms, and gathered pink spires of hard- 
back, till her little arms could scarcely clasp 
around the bundle. Then she would rush home 
panting and energetic, with torn dress, her sun- 
bonnet off on her shoulder, and curls all tangled 
from the wrestles with blackberry bushes which 
had disputed the way with her. This corner 
of the garret always filled Dolly’s head with 
visions and longings for the late, sloAV-coming 
spring, which seemed far off as the dream of 
Heaven. 

Then those barrels of sermons and old pam- 
phlets! Dolly had turned and turned theme 


172 


THE POGANUC PARSONAGE, 


upsetting them on the floor, and pawing help- 
lessly with her little pink hands and reading their 
titles with amazed eyes. It seemed to her that 
there were some thousands of the most unin- 
lelligible things. “An Appeal on the Unlawful- 
ness of a Man's Marrying his Wife’s Sister" 
turned up in every barrel she investigated, by 
twos or threes or dozens, till her soul despaired 
of finding an end. Then there were Thanksgiving 
sermons; Fast-day sermons; sermons that dis- 
coursed on the battle of Culloden ; on the char- 
acter of Frederick the Great ; a sermon on the 
death of George the Second, beginning, “ George! 
George! George is no more.” This somewhat 
dramatic opening caused Dolly to put that one 
discourse into her private library. But oh, joy 
and triumph ! one rainy day she found at the 
bottom of an old barrel a volume of the “ Arabian 
Nights,” and henceforth her fortune was made. 
Dolly had no idea of reading like that of our 
modern days — to read and to dismiss a book. 
No ; to read was with her a passion, and a book 
once read was read daily; always becoming 
dearer and dearer, as an old friend. The “ Ara- 
bian Nights” transported her to foreign lands, 
gave her a new life of her own ; and when things 
went astray with her, when the boys went to 
play higher than she dared to climb In the barn, 
or started on fishing excursions, where they con- 


THE POGANUC PARSONAGE, 


173 


sidered her an incumbrance, then she found a 
snug corner, where, curled up in a little, quiet 
lair, she could at once sail forth cn her bit of 
enchanted carpet into fairy land. 

One of these resorts was furnished by the third 
garret of the house, which had been finished off 
into an arched room and occupied by her father 
as a study. High above all the noise of the 
house, with a window commanding a view of 
Poganuc Lake and its girdle cf steel-blue pines, 
this room had to her the air of a refuge and sanc- 
tuary. Its walls were set round from floor to 
ceiling with the friendly, quiet faces of books, and 
there stood her father’s great writing-chair, on 
one arm of Avhich lay open always his “ Cruden’s 
Concordance” and his Bible. Here Dolly loved 
to retreat and niche herself down in a quiet 
corner, with her favorite books around her. She 
had a kind of sheltered, satisfied feeling as she 
thus sat and watched her father writing, turning 
his books, and speaking from time to time to him- 
self in a loud, earnest whisper. She vaguely felt 
that he was about some holy and mysterious 
work above her little comprehension, and she was 
careful never to disturb him by question or 
remark. 

The books ranged around filled her, too, with a 
solemn awe. There on the lower shelves were 
great enormous folios, on whose backs she spelled 


174 


THE POGANUC PARSONAGE, 


in black letters, “ Lightfooti Opera,” a title 
whereat she marveled, considering the bulk of 
the volumes. And overhead, grouped along in 
friendly and sociable rows, were books of all sorts 
and sizes and bindings, the titles to which she 
had read so often that she knew them by heart. 
“ Bell’s Sermons,” “ Bonnett’s Inquiries,” “ Bogue’s 
Essays,” “ Toplady on Predestination,” “ Boston’s 
Fourfold State,” Law’s Serious Call,” and other 
works of that kind she had looked over wistfully, 
day after day, without getting even a hope of 
something interesting out of them. The thought 
that her father could read and could understand 
things like these filled her with a vague awe, and 
she wondered if ever she should be old enough 
to know what it was all about. But there was 
one of her father’s books which proved a mine 
of wealth to her. It was a happy hour when he 
brought home and set up in his book-case Cotton 
Mather’s “ Magnalia,” in a new edition of two 
volumes. What wonderful stories these ! and 
stories, too, about her own country, stories that 
made her feel that the very ground she trod on 
was consecrated by some special dealing of God’s 
providence. 

When the good Doctor related how a plague 
that had wasted the Indian tribes had prepared 
the room for the Pilgrim Fathers to settle undis- 
turbed, she felt nowise doubtful of his application 


THE POGANUC PARSONAGE, 


175 

of the text, “ He drave out the heathen and 
planted them/’ 

But who shall describe the large-eyed, breath- 
less wonder with which she read stories of 
witchcraft, with its weird marvels of mysterious 
voices heard in lonely places, of awful visitations 
that had overtaken sinners, and immediate de- 
liverances that had come in answer to the pray- 
ers of God’s saints ? Then, too, the stories of 
Indian wars and captivities, when the war-whoop 
had sounded at midnight, and little children like 
her had awakened to find the house beset with 
legions of devils, who set fire to the dwellings and 
carried the people off through dreary snow and 
ice to Canada. No Jewish maiden ever grew up 
with a more earnest, faith that she belonged to a 
consecrated race, a people especially called and 
chosen of God for some great work on earth. 
Her faith in every word of the marvels related in 
this book was full as great as the dear old cred- 
ulous Dr. Cotton Mather could have desired. 

But the mysterious areas of the parsonage were 
not exhausted with its three garrets. Under the 
whole house in all its divisions spread a great 
cavernous cellar, where were murky rooms and 
dark passages explored only by the light of 
candles. There were rows of bins, in which 
were stored the apples of every name and race 
harvested in autumn from the family orchard ; 


THE POGANUC PARSONAGE. 


1^6 

Pearmains, Greenings, Seek-no-furthers, Bris- 
ters, Pippins, Golden Sweets, and other forgotten 
kinds, had each its separate bin, to which the 
children at all times had free access. There, 
too, was a long row of cider barrels, from whence, 
in the hour of their early sweetness, Dolly had 
delighted to suck the cider through straws for 
that purpose carefully selected and provided. 

Not without a certain awe was her descent into 
this shadowy Avernus, generally under the pro- 
tecting wing of Nabby or one of the older boys. 
Sometimes, with the perverse spirit which moves 
the male nature to tyrannize over the weaker 
members, they would agonize her by running 
beyond her into the darker chambers of the 
cellar, and sending thence Indian war-whoops 
and yells which struck terror to her soul, and 
even mingled their horrors with her dreams. 

But there was one class of tenants whose influ- 
ence and presence in the house must not be 
omitted — and that was the rats. 

They had taken formal possession of the par- 
sonage, grown, bred, and multiplied, and become 
ancient there, in spite of traps or cats or anything 
that could be devised against them. 

The family cat in Dolly’s day, having taken a 
dispassionate survey of the situation, had given up 
the matter in despair, and set herself quietly to 
attending to her own family concerns, as a sensible 


THE TOGA Here PAESOHAGE. 


177 


cat should. She selected the Doctor’s pamphlet 
closet as her special domestic retreat. Here she 
made her lair in a heap of old sermons, whence, 
from time to time, she led forth coveys of 
well-educated, theological kittens, who, like their 
mother, gazed on the rats with respectful curi- 
osity, and ran no imprudent risks. Consequently, 
the rats had a glorious time in the old parsonage. 
Dolly, going up the kitchen stairs into the back 
garret, as she did on her -way bedward, would see 
them sitting easy and degages on the corners of 
boxes and bins, with their tails hanging gracefully 
down, engaged in making meals on the corn or 
oats. They ramped all night on the floor of the 
highest garret over her sleeping room, appar- 
ently busy in hopping with cars of corn across 
the garret and then rolling them down between 
the beams to their nests below. Sometimes 
Dolly heard them gnawing and sawing behind 
the very wainscot of her bed as if they had set 
up a carpenter’s shop there, and she shrunk ap- 
prehensively for fear they were coming through 
into her bed. Then there were battles and skir- 
mishes and squealings and fightings, and at times 
it would appear as if whole detachments of rats 
rolled in an avalanche down the walls with the 
corn they had been stealing. And when the 
mighty winter winds of Poganuc Mountain were 
out, and rumbled and thundered, roaring and 


THE POGANUC PARSONAGE. 


178 

tumbling down this chimney, rattling all the 
windows and creaking all the doors, while the 
beams of the house wrenched and groaned like 
a ship at sea, and the house seemed to shake 
on its very foundations, — then the uproar among 
the rats grew higher and jollier, and, with all 
put together, it is not surprising that some- 
times Dolly put the bed-clothes over her head in 
fear, or ran and jumped into Nabby’s warm arms 
for protection. 

W e have dwelt thus long on the old parsonage 
because it was a silent influence, every day fash- 
ioning the sensitive, imaginative little soul that 
was growing up in its own sphere of loneliness 
there. 

For Mrs. Cushing had, besides Dolly, other 
children who engaged her thoughts and care. 
The eldest a son, studying for the ministry ; the 
second a daughter, married and settled in a distant 
part of the state ; another son working as teacher 
to pay his past college expenses ; another son in 
college, w hose bills, clothing, books, and necessary 
expenses formed constant items of thought, study, 
and correspondence ; so that, with the two boys 
in the academy and our little Dolly, she had heart 
and hands full, and small time to watch all the 
fancies and dreams that drifted through that little 
head as clouds through summer skies. Satisfied 
that the child was healthy, and that there was no 


THE POGANUC PARSONAGE, 


179 


positive danger or harm to be fallen into, she 
dismissed her from her thoughts, except in the 
way of general supervision. 

Yet every day, as the little maiden grew, 
some quaint, original touch was put to the form- 
ing character by these surroundings. 

As to Doily’s father, he was a Vvorthy repre- 
sentative of that wise and strong Connecticut 
clergy that had the wisdom immediately to face 
a change in the growth of society, to lay down 
gracefully a species of power they could no longer 
wield, and to take up and exercise, and strengthen 
themselves in, a kind of power that could 
never be taken from them. Privileged orders of 
society are often obstructionists, because they do 
not know, in the day of it, the things that belong 
to their peace. 

The Connecticut and New England clergy did 
not thus err. When the theocracy had passed 
away, they spent no time lamenting it. They let 
the cocked hat, gold-headed cane, gown and 
bands go down stream ; they let all laws pro- 
tecting their order go by ; and addressed them- 
selves simply to the v/ork of leading their 
people, as men with men, only by seeking to 
be stronger, wiser, and better men. To know 
more, to have more faith in the Invisible and 
Eternal, to be able to argue more logically to 
convince and to persuade — these were now their 


l8o 'THE POGANUC PARSONAGE. 

ambition. Dr. Cushing was foremost in this new 
crusade of earnestness. He determined to preach 
more and preach better than ever he had done 
before, and consequently in his wide parish, which 
covered a square of about ten miles, he was every 
day preaching, visiting, attending prayer-meet- 
ings. Often his wife was with him, and this gave 
Dolly many hours when she was free to follow 
her own little pursuits, and to pick up at the 
chimney-corner some of the traditionary lore of 
the period. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

SPRING AND SUMMER COME AT LAST. 


at last — at last — spring did come 
Poganuc ! This marvel and mystery 
the new creation did finally take 
Lce there every year, in spite of every 
appearance to the contrary. Long after the 
blue-bird that had sung the first promise had 
gone back into his own celestial ether, the 
promise that he sang was fulfilled. 

Like those sweet, foreseeing spirits, that on 
high, bare tree-tops of human thought pour 
forth songs of hope in advance of their age and 
time, our blue-bird was gifted with the sure 
spirit of prophecy; and, though the winds were 
angry and loud, though snows lay piled and deep 
for long weeks after, though ice and frost and hail 
armed themselves in embattled forces, yet the 
sun behind them ^all kept shining and shining, 
every day longer and longer, every day drawing 
nearer and nearer, till the snows passed away like 
a bad dream, and the brooks woke up and began 

i8i 



1 82 SPRING AND SUMMER COME AT LAST, 

to lau?<h and and the ice went out of the 

ponds. Tlien the pussy-willows threw out their 
soft catkins, and the ferns came up with their 
woolly hoods on, like prudent old house-mothers, 
looking to see if it was yet time to unroll their 
tender greens, and the v/hite blossoms of the 
shad-blow and the tremulous tags of the birches 
and alders shook themselves gaily out in the 
v/oods. Then under brown rustling leaf-banks 
came the white waxy shells of the trailing arbutus 
with its pink buds, fair as a winter’s dawn on 
snow ; then the blue and white hepaticas opened 
their eyes, and cold, sweet white violets starred 
the moist edges of v/ater courses, and great 
blue violets opened large eyes in the shadows, 
and the white and crimson trilliums unfurled 
under the flickering lace-y^ork shadows of the 
yet leafless woods ; the red columbine waved its 
bells from the rocks, and great tufts of golden 
cowslips fringed the borders of the brooks. 
Then came in flocks the delicate wind-flower 
family: anemones, starry v/hitc, and the crow 
foot, with its pink outer shell, and the spotted 
adder’s tongue, with its waving ycllov/ bells of 
blossom. Then, too, the honest, great green 
leaves of the old skunk cabbage, most refresh- 
ing to the eye in its hardy, succulent greenness, 
though an abomination to the nose of the ill- 
informed who should be tempted to gather them. 


SPRING AND SUMMER COME AT LAST 183 

In a few weeks the woods, late so frozen — hope- 
lessly buried in snow drifts — were full of a thou- 
sand beauties and delicacies of life and motion, 
and flowers bloomed on every hand. Thou 
sendest forth thy spirit, they are created : and 
thou renewest the face of the earth.” 

And, not least, the opening season had set free 
the imprisoned children ; and Dolly and the 
boys, with Spring at their heels, had followed 
the courses of the brooks and the rippling brown 
shallows of Poganuc River for many a blissful 
hour, and the parsonage had every where been 
decorated with tumblers and tea-cups holding 
floral offerings of things beautiful at the time they 
v/ere gathered, but becoming rather a matter of 
trial to the eye of exact housekeeping. Yet both 
Mrs. Cushing and Nabby had a soft heart tor 
Dolly’s flowers, sharing themselves the general 
sense of joy for the yearly deliverance of which 
they were the signs and seals. And so the 
work of renewing the face of the earth went on 
from step to step. The forest hills around 
Poganuc first grew misty with a gentle haze of 
pink and lilac, which in time changed to green 
and then to greener shades, till at last the full- 
clothed hills stood forth in the joy of re-creation, 
and, as of old, '^all the trees of the held clapped 
their hands.” 

Poganuc in its summer dress was a beautiful 


1 84 SPRING AND SUMMER COME AT LAST. 

place. Its main street had a row of dignified 
white houses, with deep door-yards and large 
side-gardens, where the great scarlet peony 
flamed forth, where were generous tufts of white 
lilies, with tall spires of saintly blossoms, and 
yellow lilies with their faint sweet perfume, and 
all the good old orthodox flowers of stately lamily 
and valid pretensions. In all the door-yards and 
along the grassy streets on either side were over- 
shadowing, long-branching trees, forming a roof 
of verdure, a green upper world from whose re- 
cesses birds dropped down their songs in lan- 
guages unknown to us mortals. Who shall 
interpret what is meant by the sweet jargon of 
robin and oriole and bobolink, with their endless 
reiterations? Something wiser, perhaps, than we 
dream of in our lower life here. 

Not a bit, however, did Hiel Jones trouble 
his head on this subjeet as he came in on his 
high stage seat in lordly stjde on the evening 
of the third of July. Far other cares were in 
Kiel’s head, for to-morrow was the glorious 
Fourth — the only really secular fete known to 
the Yankee mind — and a great celebration there- 
of had been resolved on by the magnates of 
Poganuc, and Hiel was captain of the “ Poganuc 
Rangers” — a flourishing militia company wdiich 
was to be the ornament of the forthcoming cel- 
ebration. 


SPRIiVCr ARTD SUMMER COME A T LAST. 185 

It had been agreed for that time to drop all 
political distinctions. Federalists and Democrats, 
Town Hill folk and outside folk, were all of one 
mind and spirit to make this a celebration worthy 
of Poganuc Center and the great cause of Amer- 
ican Independence. A veritable cannon had been 
hauled up upon the village green and fired once 
or twice to relieve the bursting impatience of 
the boys and men who had helped put it there. 
The flag with its stars and stripes was already 
waving from the top of the Court-house, and a 
platform was being put up in the Meeting-house, 
and people were running this way and that, 
and standing in house-doors, and talking with 
each other over fences, in a way that showed 
that something was impending. 

Hiel sprang from his box, and, after attending 
to his horses, speedily appeared on the green to 
see to things — for how could the celebration 
to-morrow be properly presented without Hiel’s 
counsels ? 

“ Look here, now, boys,” he said to the group 
assembled around the cannon, “ don’t be a 
burnin’ out yer powder. Keep it for to-morrow. 
Let her be now; ye don’t want to keep bangin’ 
and bangin’ afore the time. To-morrow mornin’ 
we’ll let ’er rip bright and early, and wake all 
the folks. Clear out, now, and go home to yer 
suppers, and don’t be a blowin’ yerselves up 


1 86 SPRING AND SUMMER COME AT LAST. 


with powder so that yc can’t see the show to- 
morrow.” 

Hiel then proceeded into the Meeting-house 
and criticised proceedings there. 

“ Look here, Jake, you jest stretch that air 
carpet a leetlc forrard ; yc sec, yc want the most 
out in front where ’t shows; back there, why, 
the chairs and table’ll kiver it; it ain’t so much 
matter. Wonder now cf them air boards is firm? 
Wouldn’t do, lettin’ on ’em all down into the 
pews in the midst on’t. Look here, Seth Chick- 
cring, yc need another prop under there; yc 
hain’t calkcrlated for the heft o’ them fellers - 
governors and colonels and ministers v/cighs 
putty heavy, and there ain’t no glory in a gin- 
cral smash-up, and we're a goin’ in for glory 
to-morrow ; we’re goin’ to sarve it out clear, and 
no mistake.” 

Hiel was a general favorite; his word of crit- 
icism was duly accepted, and things v/crc pretty 
comfortably adjusted to his mind when he went 
home to eat his supper and try on his regi- 
mentals. 

The dry, hard, colorless life of a Yankee boy 
in those days found some relief in the periods 
called “ training-days,” when the militia assem- 
bled in uniform and marched and drilled to the 
sound of fife and drum. Hiel had expended 
quite a round sum upon his uniform and was 


SPRING AND SUMMER COME A T LAST. xSy 

not insenciblc to the transformation \vhich it 
wrought in his personal appearance. 

The widow Jones kept his gold-laced cocked- 
hat, his bright gold epaulets, his whole soldier 
suit in fact, enveloped in many papers and nap- 
kins, and locked away in one of her most sacred 
recesses; but it was with pride that she gave 
him up the key, and when he came out before 
her, ail in full array, her soul was inly uplifted. 
Her son was a hero in her eyes. 

“ It’s ail right, Mother, I believe,” said Hiel, 
surveying himself first over one shoulder and 
then the other, and consulting the looking-glass 
fringed with gilt knobs that hung in the widow’s 
keeping-room.” 

‘'Yes, indeed, Hiel, it’s all right. I’ve kep’ 
camphor gum with it to keep out the moths, and 
wrapped it up to save the gold, and I don’t see 
that it’s a grain altered since it came home new. 
It’s just as new as ever ’twas.” 

Hiel may be pardoned for smiling somewhat 
complacently on the image in the glass— which 
certainly Avas that of a very comely youth— and 
when he reflected that Nabby would to-morrow 
see him at the head of his company his heart 
swelled with a secret exultation. It is not alone 
the privilege of the fair sex to know Avhen things 
are becom.ing to them, and Hiel knew when he 
looked well, as surely as if any one had told him. 


1 88 S PILING AND SUMMER COME AT LAST, 

He gave himself a patronizing wink and whistled 
a strain of “Yankee Doodle” as he turned away 
from the glass, perhaps justly confiding in the 
immemorial power which military trappings have 
always exercised over the female heart. 

It was with reluctance that he laid aside the 
fascinating costume, and set himself to brightening 
up here and there a spot upon his sword-hilt or 
blade that called for an extra touch. 

“ We must have breakfast early to-morrow. 
Mother; the boys will be here by sunrise.” 

“ Never you fear,” said the widow. “ I’ve got 
everything ready, and we’ll be all through by 
that time; but it ’s as well to get to bed now.” 

And so in a few minutes more the candies were 
out and only the sound of the frogs and the 
whippoorwills broke the stillness of the cottage. 
Long before the nine o’clock bell rung Hiel and 
his mother were happy in the land of dreams. 

In the parsonage, too, there had been ar: effort 
of discipline to produce the needed stillness and 
early hours called for by to-morrow’s exactions. 

The boys, who had assisted at the dragging in 
of the cannon and heard its first reverberation, 
were in a most inflammatory state of patriotism, 
longing wildly for gunpowder. In those days no 
fire-crackers or other vents of the kind had been 
provided for the relief of boys under pressure oi 
excitement, and so they were forced to become 


SP/^IATG AND SUMMER COME AT LAST. 189 

explosive material themselves, and the walls of 
the parsonage rang with the sound. Dolly also 
was flying wildly around, asking Nabby questions 
about to-morrow and running away before she 
got her answer, to listen to some new outburst 
from the boys. 

Nabby, however, had her own very decisive 
ways of putting things, and settled matters at last 
by putting her to bed, saying as she did so, 
“ Now, Dolly Cushing, you just shut up. You 
are crazier than a bobolink, and if you don’t be 
still and go to sleep I won’t touch to take you 
with me to see the trainers to-morrow. Your 
ma said you might go with me if you’d be good ; 
so you just shut up and go to sleep and Dolly 
shut her eyes hard and tried to obey. 

We shall not say that the'*e were not some 
corresponding movements before the glass on the 
part of Nabby before retiring. It certainly came 
into her head to try on her bonnet, which had 
been thriftily re-trimmed and re-arranged for 
summer use since the time of that sleigh-ride 
with Kiel. Moreover, she chose out her gown 
and sorted a knot of ribbons to go with it. '‘I 
suppose,” she said to herself, “ all the girls will be 
making: fools of themselves about Hiel Jones to- 
morrow, but I ain’t a going to.” Nevertheless, 
she thought there was no harm in looking as well 
as she could. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
dolly’s “fourth.” 



jjANG! went the cannon on the green, 
just as the first red streak appeared 
over Poganuc hills, and open flew 
Dolly’s great blue eyes. Every boy 
in town was out of bed as if ho had been fired 
out of a pop-gun, and into his clothes and out 
on the green with a celerity scarcely short of 
the miraculous. Dolly’s little toilet took more 
time ; but she, too, was soon out upon the scene 
with her curls in a wild, unbrushed tangle, her 
little breast swelling and beating with a great 
enthusiasm for General Washington and liberty 
and her country, all of which were somehow 
to be illustrated and honored that day in Po- 
ganuc. 

As the first rays of the rising sun struck the 
stars and stripes floating over the Court-house, 
and the sound of distant drum and fife announced 
the coming in of the Poganuc Rangers, Dolly 

was so excited that she burst into tears. 

190 



DOLLY'S ^^FOURTH: 


‘‘ What in the world are you crying for, Dolly ?” 
said Bill rather impatiently. “ I don’t see any 
thing to cry about.” 

“ I can’t help it, Will,” said Dolly, wiping her 
eyes, “it’s so glorious!” 

“ If that isn’t just like a girl 1” said Bill. Con- 
tempt could go no farther, and Dolly retreated 
abashed. She was a girl — there was no help for 
that ; but for this one day she envied the boys — 
the happy boys who might some day grow up 
and fight for their country, and do something 
glorious like General Washington. Meanwhile, 
from mouth to mouth, every one was giving in 
advance an idea of what the splendors of the day 
were to be. 

“ I tell ye,” said Abe Bowles, “ this ’ere’s goin* 
to be a reel slam-bang, this ’ere is. Colonel 
Davenport is a goin’ to review the troops, and 
wear the very same uniform he wore at Long 
Island. 

“Yes,” said Liph Kingsley, “and old Csesar’s 
goin’ to wear his uniform and wait on the 
colonel. Tell ye what, the old snoAvball is on 
his . high heels this morning — got a suit of the 
colonel’s old uniform. Won’t he strut and show 
his ivories!” 

“ Hulloa, boys, there’s going to be a sham 
fight; Kiel told me so,” said Bob Cushing. 
“ Some are going to be British and some Ameri- 


192 


DOLLY'S fourth: 


cans, and the Americans are going to whip the 
British and make ’em run.” 

“Tell ye what,” said Jake Freeman, “there’ll 
be a bangin’ and poppin’ ! won’t there, boys!” 

“Oh,” said Dolly, who irrepressibly was fol- 
lowing her brothers into the throng, “they won’t 
really shoot anybody, will they?” 

“Oh no, they’ll only fire powder, of course,” 
said Bill majestically; “don’t you know that?”’ 

Dolly was rebuked and relieved at once. 

“ I say, boys,” said Nabby, appearing suddenly 
among the throng, “your ma says you must 
come right home to breakfast this minit ; and 
you, Dolly Cushing, what are you out here for, 
round among the fellers like a tom-boy? Come 
right home.” 

“Why, Nabby, I wanted to seel” pleaded 
Dolly. 

“ Oh yes, you’re allers up to everything and 
into everything, and your hair not brushed nor 
nothin’. You’ll see it all in good time — come 
right away. Don’t be a-lookin’ at them train- 
ers, now,” she added, giving herself, however, 
a good observing glance to where across the 
green a knot of the Poganuc Rangers were col- 
lecting, and where Hiel, in full glory of his 
uniform, with his gold epaulets and cocked hat, 
was as busy and impressive as became the 
situation. 


DOLLY'S fourth: 


193 


''Oh, Nabby, do look; there’s Hiel,” cried 
Dolly. 

"Yes, yes; I see plain enough there’s Hiel,” 
said Nabby; "he thinks he’s mighty grand, I 
^suppose. He’ll be conceiteder’n ever, I expect.” 
" Just at that moment Hiel, recognizing Nabby, 
took off his gold-laced hat and bowed with a 
graceful flourish. 

Nabby returned a patronizing little nod, and 
either the morning dawn, or the recent heat of 
the kitchen fire, or something, flushed her cheeks. 
It was to be remarked in evidence of the pres- 
ence of mind that distinguishes the female sex 
that, though she had been sent out on a hurried 
errand to call the children, yet she had on her 
best bonnet, and every curl of her hair had evi- 
dently been carefully and properly attended to 
that morning. 

"Of course, I wasn’t going to look like a 
fright,” she soliloquized. "Not that I care for 
any of ’em ; but looks is looks any time o’ day.” 

At the minister’s breakfast-table the approach- 
ing solemnities were discussed. The procession 
was to form at the Court-house at nine o’clock. 
Democrats and Federalists had united to dis- 
tribute impartially as possible the honors of the 
day. As Col. Davenport, the only real live 
revolutionary officer the county boasted, was an 
essential element of the show, and as he was a 


194 


DOLLY'S FOURTHS 


staunch Federalist, it was necessary to be con- 
ciliatory. Then there was the Federal cx- 
Governor to sit on the platform with the newly 
elected Democratic Governor. The services 
were in the Meeting-house, as the largest build- 
ing in town; and Dr. Cushing was appointed to 
make the opening prayer. As a compliment to 
the Episcopal Church the Federal members of 
the committee allotted a closing prayer to the 
Reverend Simeon Coan. 

That young man, however, faithful to the 
logic of his creed, politely declined joining in 
public services where his assisting might be 
held to recoo:nizc the ordination of an un- 
authorized sectarian preacher, and so the Rev. 
Dr. Goodman, of Skantic, was appointed in his 
place. 

Squire Lc\yis was observed slightly to elevate 
his eye -brows and shrug his shoulders as he 
communicated to the committee the grounds of 
his rector’s refusal. He was in fact annoyed, 
and a little embarrassed, by the dry, amused ex- 
pression of Sheriff Dennie’s coun-tenance. 

“ Oh, speak it all out ; never fear, Lewis,” he 
said. “ I like to see a man face the music. 
Your minister is a logical fellow, and keeps 
straight up to what he teaches. You old Epis- 
copalians were getting loose in your ideas ; you 
needed cording up.” 


DOLLY’' S '^fourth: 


195 


“ There’s such a thing as cording too tight 
and breaking a string sometimes,” muttered the 
Squire, who was not well pleased at the scruple 
that kept his church unrepresented in the ex- 
ercises. 

The domestic arrangements for the parson’s 
family were announced at the breakfast table. 
The boys were endowed with the magnificent 
sum of six cents each and turned loose for the 
day, with the parting admonition to keep clear 
of powder — a most hopeless and unnecessary 
charge, since powder was the very heart and 
essence of all the glory of the day. 

At an early hour the bell of the Meeting-house 
rang out over all the neighboring hills and val- 
leys; the summons was replied to by streams 
of wagons on the roads leading to Poganuc for 
a square of ten miles round. Not merely Pog- 
anuc— North, South, East, West, and Center— 
was in motion, but several adjacent towns and 
villages sent forth their trainers — bands of mili- 
tia, who rose about midnight and marched till 
morning to be on time. 

By nine o’clock nominally (but far nearer to 
ten really) the procession started from the Court- 
house with drum and fife and banners. Dolly 
had been committed for the day to the charge 
of Nabby, who should see that she took no harm, 
and engineer for her the best chances of seeing 


oaLLY's fourth:' 


196 

all that went on; while Mrs. Cushing, relieved 
of this care, took her seat quietly among the 
matronage of Poganuc and waited for the en- 
trance of the procession. But Dolly saw them 
start from the Court-house, with beat of drum 
and peal of fife ; and Dolly saw the banners, and 
saw Colonel Davenport with his white hair and 
splendid physique, now more splendid in the 
blue and gold of his military dress; and they 
all marched with majestic tread towards the 
meeting-house. Then Nabby hurried with her 
charge and got for her a seat by herself in the 
front singers’ seat in the gallery, where she could 
see them all file in and take their seats on the 
platform. Nabby had been one of the flowers 
of this singers’ seat before her father’s change 
of base had transferred her to the Episcopal 
Church, and her presence to-day was welcomed 
by many old friends- for Nabby had a good, 
strong clear voice of her . own, and was no small 
addition to the choral force. 

The services opened by the national Puritan 
psalm : 

“ Let children hear the mighty deeds 
Which God performed of old, 

Which in our younger years we saw 
And which our fathers told. 

“ Our lips shall teach them to our sons, 

And they again to theirs. 

That generations yet unborn 
May teach them to their heirs. 


DQILY'S ^'FOlJRTHr 


197 


'* That they may learn, in God alone 
Their hope securely stands ; 

That they may ne'er his laws forget, 

But practice his commands.” 

The wild warble of “ St. Martin’s,” the ap- 
pointed tune whose wings bore these words, 
swelled and billowed and reverberated through 
the house, carrying with it that indefinable 
thrill which always fills a house when deep 
emotions are touched — deepest among people 
habitually reserved and reticent of outward dem- 
onstration. It was this solemn undertone, this 
mysterious, throbbing sub-bass of repressed emo- 
tion, which gave the power and effect to the 
Puritan music. After the singing came Dr. Cush- 
ing’s prayer — which was a recounting of God’s 
mercies to New England from the beginning, and 
of his deliverances from her enemies, and of 
petitions for the glorious future of the United 
States of America — that they might be chosen 
vessels, commissioned to bear the light of liberty 
and religion through all the earth and to bring in 
the great millennial day, when wars should cease 
and the whole world, released from the thraldom 
of evil, should rejoice in the light of the Lord. 

The millennium was ever the star of hope in 
the eyes of the New England clergy : their faces 
were set eastward, towards the dawn of that 
day, and the cheerfulness of those anticipations 
illuminated the hard tenets of their theology with 


DOLLY'S ^'FOURTHS 


198 

a rosy glow. They were children of the morning. 
The Doctor, however, did not fail to make use of 
his privilege to give some very decided political 
hits, and some petitions arose which caused sensa- 
tion between the different parties. The New 
England clergyman on these occasions had his 
political antagonists at decided advantage. If he 
could not speak at them he could pray at them, 
and of course there was no reply to an impeach- 
ment in the court of heaven. So when the 
Doctor’s prayer was over, glances were inter- 
changed, showing the satisfaction or dissatisfac- 
tion, as might be, of the listeners. 

And now rose Colonel Davenport to read the 
Declaration of Independence. Standing square 
and erect, his head thrown back, he read in 
a resonant and emphatic voice that great enuncia- 
tion upon which American national existence was 
founded. 

Dolly had never heard it before, and even now 
had but a vague idea of what was meant by some 
parts of it; but she gathered enough from the 
recital of the abuses and injuries which had 
driven her nation to this course to feel herself 
swelling with indignation, and ready with all her 
little mind and strength to applaud that con- 
cluding Declaration of Independence which the 
Colonel rendered with resounding majesty. She 
was as ready as any of them to pledge her “ life, 


DOLLY'S fourth: 


199 

fortune and sacred honor” for such a cause. 
The heroic element was strong in Dolly ; it had 
come down by “ordinary generation” from a 
line of Puritan ancestry, and just now it swelled 
tier little frame and brightened her cheeks and 
made her long t© do something, she scarce knew 
what ; to fight for her country or to make some 
declaration on her own account. 

But now came the oration of the day, pro- 
nounced by a lively young Virginia law student 
in the office of Judge Gridley. It was as ornate 
and flowery, as full of patriotism and promise, as 
has been the always approved style of such pro- 
ductions. The bird of our nation received the 
usual appropriate flourishes, flew upward and 
sun-ward, waved his pinions, gazed with un- 
daunted eye on the brightness, and did all other 
things appointed for the American Eagle to do 
on the Fourth of July. It was a nicely-written 
classical composition, and eminently satisfactory 
to the audience ; and Dolly, without any very 
direct conception of its exact meaning, was de- 
lighted with it, and so were all the Poganuc 
People. 

Then came the singing of an elaborate anthem, 
on which the choir had been practicing for a 
month beforehand and in which the various parts 
ran, and skipped, and hopped^ and chased each 
other round and round, and performed all sorts 


500 




of unheard-of trills r.nd quavers and musical evo- 
lutions, with a heartiness of self-satisfaction that 
was charming to v/itness. 

Then, when all was over, the procession 
marched out— the magnates on the stage to a 
dinner, and the Poganuc military to refresh them- 
selves at Glazier’s, preparatory to the grand 
review in the afternoon. 

Dolly spent her six cents for ginger-bread, and 
walked unwearyingly the rounds of sight-seeing 
with Nabby, her soul inly uplifted with the 
grandeur of the occasion. 

In the afternoon came the military display ; 
and Colonel Davenport on his white horse re- 
viewed the troops; and just behind him, also 
mounted, wms old Cato, with his gold-laced hat 
and plume, his buff breeches and long-tailed blue 
coat. On the whole, this solemn black attendant 
formed a striking and picturesque addition to the 
scene. And so there were marching and counter- 
marching and military evolutions of all kinds, and 
Hic^, with his Poganuc Rangers, figured conspic- 
uously in the eyes of all. 

It was a dangerous sight for Nabby. She 
really could not help feeling a secret awe for 
Hiel, as if he had been wafted aw'ay from her 
into some higher sphere ; he looked so very de- 
termined and martial that she began to admit 
that he might carry any fortress that he set 


DOLLY^S fourth: 


•201 


himself seriously to attack. After the regular 
review came the sham fight, which was in fact 
but an organized military frolic. Some of the 
West Poganuc youth had dressed themselves as 
Indians, and other companies, drawn by lot, 
were to personate the British, and there was 
skirmishing and fighting and running, to the wild 
and crazy delight of the boys. A fort, which had 
been previously constructed of bushes and trees, 
was furiously attacked by British and Indians, 
and set on fire ; and then the Americans bursting 
out scattered both the fire and the forces, and 
performed prodigies of valor. 

In short, it was a Day of days to Dolly and 
the children, and when sober twilight drew on 
they came home intoxicated with patriotism and 
sight-seeing. 

On her way home Dolly was spied out by her 
old friend Judge Gridley, who always delighted 
to have a gossip with her. 

“Ha, my little Dolly, are you out to-day?" 

“ To be sure, sir," said Dolly ; “ indeed I’m out. 
Oh, hasn’t it been glorious ! I’ve never been so 
happy in my life. I never heard the Declaration 
of Independence before." 

“Well, and what do you think of it?" asked 
the Judge. 

“ I never heard anything like it," said Dolly. 
“ I didn’t know before how they did abuse us, 


202 


DOLLY'S fourth: 


and wasn’t it grand that we wouldn’t bear it! 
I never heard anything so splendid as that last 
part.” 

“You would have made a good soldier.” 

“ If I were a man I would. Only think of it, 
Colonel Davenport fought in the war 1 I’m so 
glad we can see one man that did. If wc had 
lived then, I know my papa and all my brothers 
would have fought ; we would have had ‘ liberty 
or death.’” 

Dolly pronounced these words, which she had 
heard in the oration, with a quivering eagerness. 
The old Judge gave her cheek a friendly pinch. 

“You’ll do,” he said; “but now you must let 
Nabby here get you home and quiet you down, 
or you won’t sleep all night. Good by. Pussy.” 

And so went off Dolly’s Fourth of July. 

But Hiel made an evening call at the parsonage 
in his full regimentals ; and stayed to a late hour 
uhreproved. There were occasions when even 
the nine o’clock bell did not send a young fellow 
home. This appeared to be one of them. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


SUMMER DAYS IN POGANUC. 



O passed Dolly's Fourth of July; a con-- 
fused dream of glory and patriotism, of 
wonderful sights and surprises — but, 
like a dream, it all melted away. 

New England life was too practical and labor- 
ious to give more than one day to holiday per- 
formances, and with the night of the Fourth the 
whole pageant vanished. Kiel’s uniform, with its 
gold lace and feathers, returned to the obscurity 
of Mother Jones’s pillow-cases and camphor- 
gum, and was locked away in secret places ; and 
Kiel was only a simple stage-driver, going forth 
on his route as aforetime. So with the trappings 
of the Poganuc Rangers — who the day before had 
glittered like so many knights-errant in the front 
of battle — all were laid by in silent waiting, and 
the Poganuc Rangers rose at four o’clock and 
put on their working clothes and cow-hide shoes, 
and were abroad with their oxen. The shoe- 
maker and the carpenter, who yesterday were 
transfigured in blue and gold, to-day were ham- 
mering shoe-soles and planing boards as if no 

203 


204 


SUMMER DA YS IN POGANUC. 


such thing had happened. In the shadows of the 
night the cannon had vanished from the village 
green and gone where it came from ; the flag on 
the Court-house was furled, and the world of 
Poganuc Center was again the same busy, literal, 
work-a-day world as ever. Only Liph Kings- 
bury, who had burned his hand with gunpowder 
in consequence of carrying too much New Eng- 
land rum in his head, and one or two boys, who 
had met with a sprain or bruise in the excite- 
ment of the day, retained any lasting memorials 
of the celebration. 

It is difficult in this our era of railroads and 
steam to give any idea of the depths of absolute 
stillness and repose that brooded in the summer 
skies over the wooded hills of Poganuc. No 
daily paper told the news of distant cities. Sum- 
mer traveling was done in stages, and was long 
and wearisome, and therefore there was little of 
that. Everybody staid at home, and expected to 
stay there the year through. A journey from 
Poganuc to Boston or New York was more of 
an undertaking in those days than a journey to 
Europe is in ours. Now and then some of the 
great square houses on the street of Poganuc 
Center received a summer visitor, and then 
everybody in town knew it and knew all about 
it. The visitor’s family, rank, position in life, 
probable amount of property, and genealogy to 


Sl^MME'J^ DA YS m POGANVC. 


205 

remote ancestors, were freely discussed and set- 
tled, till all Poganuc was fully informed. The 
elect circle of Poganuc called on them, and made 
stately tea-parties in their honor, and these enter- 
tainments pleasantly rippled the placid surface of 
society. But life went on there with a sort of 
dreamy stillness. The different summer flowers 
came out in their successive ranks in the neatly- 
kept garden ; roses followed peonies, and white 
lilies came and went, and crimson and white 
phloxes stood ranged in midsummer ranks, and the 
yellow tribes of marigolds brought up the autum- 
nal season. And over on the woody hills around 
the town the spring tints deepened and grew 
dark in summer richness, and then began breaking 
here and there into streaks and flecks of gold and 
crimson, foretelling autumn. And there Avere 
wonderful golden sunsets, and moonlight nights 
when the street of Poganuc seemed overshot 
with a silver network of tracery like the arches 
of some cathedral. The doors and Avindows of 
the houses stood innocentl}" open all night for the 
moon to shine in, and ypuths and maidens Avalked 
and wandered and sentimentalized up and doAvn 
the long, dewy street, and nobody seemed to 
knOAv hoAv fast the short, beautiful summer of 
those regions Avas passing aAvay. 

As to Dolly, summer was her time of life and 
joy ; but it was not by any means a joy unmixed. 


206 


SUMMER DA VS IN POGANUC. 

Dolly’s education was conducted on the good 
old-fashioned principle that everyone must do 
his little part in the battle of life, and that no- 
body was pretty enough or good enough to be 
kept merely for ornamental purposes. 

She was no curled darling, to be kept on 
exhibition in white dresses and broad sashes, 
and she had been sedulously instructed in the 
orthodoxy of Dr. Watts, that 

“ Satan finds some mischief still 
For idle hands to do.” 

It was the duty of the good house-mother of 
those days to be so much in advance of this un- 
pleasant personage that there should be no room 
for his temptations. Accordingly, any part of the 
numerous household tasks of the Parsonage that 
could be trusted to a little pair of hands were 
turned over to Dolly. In those days were none 
of the thousand conveniences which now abridge 
the labors of the housekeeper. Everything came 
in the rough, and had to be reduced to a usable 
form in the household. 

The delicate, smooth white salt which filled 
the cellars at the table was prepared by Dolly’s 
manipulation from coarse rock-salt crystals, which 
she was taught to wash and dry, and pound and 
sift, till it became of snowy fineness; and quite 
a long process it was. Then there were spices 
to be ground, and there was coffee to be browned 


SUMMER DA YS IN POGANUC. 


207 

to the exact and beautiful shade dear to house- 
hold ideality ; and Dolly could do that. 

Being a bright, enterprising little body, she 
did not so much object to these processes, which 
rather interested her, but her very soul was 
wearied within her at the drill of the long and 
varied sewing lessons that were deemed indis- 
pensable to her complete education. Pounding 
salt, or grinding spice, or beating eggs, or roast- 
ing coffee, were endurable; but darning stock- 
ings and stitching wristbands, and “scratching’’ 
gathers, were a weariness unto her spirit. And 
yet it was only at the price of penances like these, 
well and truly performed, that Dolly’s golden 
own hours of leisure were given. 

Most of her household tasks could be per- 
formed in the early morning hours before school, 
and after school Dolly measured the height of 
the afternoon sun with an avaricious eye. Would 
there be time enough to explore the woody 
hills beyond Poganuc River before sundown? 
and would they let her go? 

For oh, those woods! What a world of fairy- 
land, what a world of pure, untold joy was there 
to Dolly! When she found her face fairly set 
towards them, with leave to stay till sundown, 
and with Spring at her heels, Dolly was as bliss- 
ful, as perfectly happy, as a child can ever be 
made by any one thing. 


2o8 summer da ys im poganuc. 

The sense of perfect freedom, the wonder, the 
curiosity, the vague expectation of what she 
might find or see, made her heart beat with pleas- 
ure. First came the race down through the 
tall, swaying meadow-grass and white-hatted 
daisies to the Poganuc River — a brown, clear, 
gurgling stream, wide, shallow, and garrulous, 
that might be easily crossed on mossy stepping- 
stones. Here was a world of delight to Dolly. 
Skipping from stone to stone, or reclining athwart 
some great rock around which the brown waters 
rippled, she watched the little fishes come and 
go, darting hither and thither like flecks of sil- 
ver. Down under the shade of dark hemlocks 
the river had worn a deep pool where the trans- 
lucent water lay dark and still ; and Dolly, 
climbing carefully and quietly to the rocky sMe, 
could lean over and watch the slim, straight 
pickerel, holding themselves so still in the water 
that the play of their gossamer fins made no 
ripple, — so still, so apparently unwatchful and 
drowsy, that Dolly again and again fancied she 
might slily reach down her little hand and take 
one out of the water; but the moment the rosy 
finger-tips touched the wave, with a flash, like 
a ray of light, the coveted prize was gone. 
There was no catching a pickerel asleep, how- 
ever quiet he might appear. Yet, time after 
time, Dolly tried the experiment, burning with 


&UMMER J>4 YE IN- EOGANI/C, 


209 


the desire to win glory among the boys by 
bringing home an actual and veritable pickerel 
of her own catchino*. 

O 

But there were other beauties, dryad treas- 
ures, more accessible. The woods along the 
moist margin of the river were full of the pink 
and white azalea, and she gathered besides the 
fragrant blossoms stores of what were called 
‘‘honeysuckle apples” that grew upon them — fleshy 
exudations not particularly nice in flavor, but 
crisp, cool, and much valued among children. 
There, too, were crimson wintergreen berries, 
spicy in their sweetness, and the young, tender 
leaves of the wintergreen, ranking high as an 
eatable dainty among little folk. Dolly’s basket 
was sure to fill rapidly when she set herself to 
gathering these treasures, and the sun would be 
almost down before she could leave the en- 
chanted shades of the wood and come back to 
real life again. 

But Saturday afternoon was a sort of child’s 
Paradise. No school was kept, and even house- 
hold disciplinarians recognized a reasonably well- 
behaved child’s right to a Saturday afternoon 
play-spell. 

“ Now, Dolly,” had Nabby said to her the 
week before, “you be sure and be a good girl, 
and do up all your stitching and get the stock- 
ings mended afore Saturday comes, and then we’ll 


210 


SUMMER DA YS IN POGANUC. 


take Saturday afternoon to go a-huckleberrying 
up to Pequannock Rock ; and we’ll stop and see 
Mis’ Persis.” 

This, let it be known, was a programme to 
awaken Dolly’s ambition. Pequannock Rock was 
a distance which she never would be permitted to 
explore alone, and Mis’ Persis was to her imagin- 
ation a most interesting and stimulating person- 
age. She was a widow, and the story ran that 
her deceased husband had been an Indian — a 
story which caused Dolly to regard her with a 
sort of awe, connecting her with Cotton Mather’s 
stories of war-whoops and scalping-knives, and 
midnight horrors when houses were burned and 
children carried off to Canada. 

Nevertheless, Mis’ Persis v/as an inolfe-nsive 
and quite useful member of society. She had her 
little house and garden, which she cultivated with 
energy and skill. She kept her cow, her pig, her 
chickens, and contrived always to have something 
to sell when she needed an extra bit of coin. She 
was versed in all the Indian lore of roots and 
herbs, and her preparations of these for medicinal 
purposes were much in request. Among the 
farming population around. Mis’ Persis was held 
in respect as a medical authority, and her opin- 
ions were quoted with confidence. She was also 
of considerable repute among the best families of 
Poganuc as a filler of gaps such as may often 


SUMMER DA YS IN POGANUC, 


211 


occur in household economy. There was noth- 
ing wanted to be done that Mis’ Persis could not 
do. She could wash, or iron, or bake, or brew, or 
nurse the sick, as the case might require. She 
was, in fact, one of the reserved forces of Poga- 
nuc society. She was a member of Dr. Cushing’s 
church, in good and regular standing, and, in her 
way, quite devoted to her minister and church, 
and alwavs specially affable and gracious to Doll3^ 
This particular Saturday afternoon all the con- 
stellations were favorable. Dolly was pronounced 
a good girl, her week’s tasks well performed ; and 
never were dinner-dishes more rapidly whirled 
into place than were Nabby’s on that same after- 
noon ; so that before three o’clock the pair were 
well on their way to the huckleberry-field. There, 
under the burning August sun, the ground shot 
up those ardent flower-flames well called fire- 
lilies, and the wild roses showered their deep pink 
petals as they pushed through the thickets, and 
the huckleberry-bushes bent low under the weight 
of the great sweet berries; and Dolly’s checks 
were all a-flame, like the fire-lilies themselves, 
with heat and enthusiasm as she gathered the 
purple harvest into her basket. When the bas- 
kets were filled and Dolly had gathered fire-lilies 
and wild roses more than she knew how to carry, 
it was proposed to stop a little and rest, on the 
homeward route, at Mis’ Persia’s cottage. 


212 


SUMMER DA YS IN POGANUC. 


They found her sitting on her door-step, knit- 
ting. A little wiry, swart, thin woman was she, 
alert in her movements, and quick and decided of 
speech. Her black eyes had in them a latent 
fiery gleam that suggested all the while that 
though pleased and pleasant at the present mo- 
ment Mis’ Persis might be dangerous if roused, 
and Dolly was always especially conciliatory and 
polite in her addresses to her. 

On the present occasion Mis’ Persis was de- 
lightfully hospitable. She installed Dolly in a 
small splint-bottomed rocking-chair at the door, 
and treated her to a cup of milk and a crisp 
cooky. 

“ Why, what a little girl you are to be so far 
from home!” she said. 

“ Oh, I don’t mind,” said Dolly ; I am never 
tired. I could pick berries all day.” 

“But, sakes alive! ain’t you afraid of snakes?” 
said Mis’ Persis. “Why, my sister got dread- 
fully bit by a rattlesnake when she wa’n’t much 
older ’n you,” and Mis’ Persis shook her head 
weirdly. 

“Oh, dear me! Did it kill her?” said Dolly, 
in horror. 

“ No ; she lived many a year after,” said Mis’ 
Persis, with a reticent air, as one v/ho could say 
more if properly approached. 

“ Do, do tell us all about it ; do, Mis’ Persis. I 


SUMMER DA VS IN POGANUC. 


213 

never saw a rattlesnake. I never heard one. 1 
shouldn’t know what it was if I saw one.” 

“ You wouldn’t ever forget it if you did,” said 
Mis’ Persis, oracularly. 

“ Oh, please. Mis’ Persis, do tell about it,” said 
Dolly, eagerly. Where were you, and how did 
it happen?” 

“Well,” said Mis’ Persis, “it was when I was a 
girl and lived over in Danbury. There’s where I 
come from. My sister Polly and me, we went out 
to High Ledge one afternoon after huckleberries, 
and as v/c was makin’ cur v/ay through some 
low bushes v/c heard the sharpest noise, jest like 
a locust scrccchin’, right under foot, and jest 
then Polly she screams out, ^ Oh, Sally,’ says she, 
‘ somethin’s bit me !’ and I looked down and saw 
a great rattlesnake crawlin’ ofi through the 
bushes — a great big fellov/, as big as my wrist. 

“^Wcll,’ says I, ‘Polly, I must get you home 
quick as I can ;’ and we set dov/n our pails and 
started for home. It was a broilin’ hot day, and 
we hed a’most a mile to walk, and afore we 
got home I hed to carry her. Her tongue was 
swelled so that it hung out of her mouth ;' her 
neck and throat was all swelled, and spotted like 
the snake. Oh, it was dreadful! We got her 
into the house, and on the bed, and sent for the 
Indian doctor — there ain’t nobody knows about 
them snake-bites but Indians. Well, he come and 


214 


SUMMER DA YS IN POGANUC. 


brought a bag of rattlesnake-weed with him, 
and he made poultices of it and laid all over her 
stomach and breast and hands and feet, and he 
made a tea of it and got some down her throat, 
and kep’ a feedin’ on it to her till she got so 
she could swallow. That’s the way she got 
well.” 

“ Oh, Mis’ Persis,” said Dolly, after a pause of 
awe and horror, “ what is rattlesnake-weed ?” 

Why, it’s a worse poison than the snake-bite, 
and it kills the snake-poison ’cause it’s stronger. 
Wherever the snakes grow, there the rattlesnake- 
v^reed grows. The snakes know it themselves, 
and when they fight and bite each other they go 
and eat the weed and it cures ’em. Here’s some 
of it,” she said, going to the wall of the room 
which v/as all hung round with dried bunches 
of various herbs — “here’s some I got over on 
Poganuc Mountain, if you ever should want any.” 

“ Oh, I hope I never shall,” said Dolly. “ Nab- 
by, only think ! What if there had been a snake 
in those bushes!” 

Well, you can always know,” said Mis’ Persis, 
“if 3^ou hear somethin’ in the bushes jest like 
a locust, sharp and sudden — why, you’d better 
look afore you set your foot down. But we don’t 
hev no rattlesnakes round this way. Pve beat 
all these lots through and never seen tail of one. 
This ’ere ain’t one o’ their places ; over to Poga- 


SUMMER DAYS IN POGANUC. 


215 


nuc Mountain, now, a body has to take care how 
they step.’’ 

“ Do you suppose, Mis’ Persis,” said Dolly, 
after a few moments of grave thought, “ do you 
suppose God made that weed grow on purpose 
to cure rattlesnake bites?” 

“ Of course he did,” said Mis’ Persis, as decid- 
edly as if she had been a trained theologian, 

that’s what rattlesnake-weed was made fer ; 
any fool can see that.” 

“It seems to me,” said Dolly, “that it would 
have been better not to have the snakes, and 
then people wouldn’t be bit at all — wouldn’t it ?” 

“Oh, we don’t know everything,” said Mis’ 
Persis ; “ come to that, there’s a good many things 
that nobody knows what they’s made fer. But 
the Indians used to say there was some cure 
grew for every sickness if only our eyes was 
opened to see it, and I expect it’s so.” 

“ Come, Dolly,” said Nabby, “ the sun is gettin’ 
pretty low; I must hurry home to get supper.” 

Just then the bell of the distant meeting-house 
gave three tolling strokes, whereat all the three 
stopped talking and listened intently. 

Of all the old Puritan customs none was more 
thrillingly impressive than this solemn announce- 
ment of a death, and this deliberate tolling out 
of the years of a finished life. 

It was a sound to which every one, whether 


2i6 


SUMMER DA YS IN POGANUC, 


alone or in company, at work or in play, stopped 
to listen, and listened with a nervous thrill of 
sympathy. 

“1 wonder who that is?'’ said Nabby. 

“ Perhaps it’s Lyddy Bascom,” said Mis’ Persis, 
‘‘she’s been down with typhus fever.” 

The bell now was rapidly tolling one, two, 
three, four, and all the company counted eagerly 
up to sixteen, seventeen, when Mis’ Persis in- 
terposed. 

“No, ’taint Lyddy; it’s goin’ on,” and they 
counted and counted, and still the bell kept toll- 
ing till it had numbered eight}^ “ It’s old Granny 
Moss,” said Mis’. Persis decisively; “she’s ben 
lyin’ low some time. Well, she’s in heaven now; 
the better for her.” 

“ Ah, I’m glad she’s in heaven,” said Dolly, 
v/ith a shivering sigh ; “ she’s ail safe now.” 

“ Oh, yes, she’s better off,” said Nabby, getting 
up and shaking her dress as if to shake off the 
very thought of death. A warm, strong, glowing 
creature she was, as full of earth-life as the fire- 
lilies they had been gathering. She seemed a 
creature made for this world and its present uses, 
and felt an animal repulsion to the very thought 
of death. 

“ Come, Doily,” she said, briskly, as she counted 
the last toll, “we can’t wait another minute.” 

“Well, Dolly,” said Mis’ Persis, “ tell your 


SUMMER DAYS IN POGANUC. 217 

mother I’m a cornin’ this year to make up her 
candles for her, and the work sha’n’t cost her a 
cent. I’ve been tryin’ out a lot o’ bayberry wax 
to put in em and make ’em good and firm.” 

“ I’m sure you are very good,” said Dolly, with 
instinctive politeness. 

I want to do my part towards supportin’ my 
minister,” said Mis’ Persis, ‘‘and that’s what I 
hev to give.” 

“ I’ll tell my mother, and I know she’ll thank 
you,” answered Dolly, as they turned home^vard. 

The sun was falling lower and lower toward 
the west. The long shadows of the two danced 
before them on the dusty road. 

After walking half a mile they came to a stone 
culvert, where a little brawling stream crossed 
the road. The edges of the brook were fringed 
with sweet-flag blades waving in the afternoon 
light, and the water gurgled and tinkled pleasantly 
among the stones. 

“ There, Dolly,” said Nabby, seating herself on 
a dat stone by the brook, “ I’m goin’ to rest a 
minute, and you can find some of them sweet-flag 
‘graters’ if you want.” This was the blossom- 
bud of the sweet flag, which when young and 
tender was reckoned a delicacy among, omnivo- 
rous children. 

“ Why, Nabby, I thought you were in such a 
hurry to get home,” said Dolly, gathering the 


2I8 


SUMMER DAYS IN ROGANUC, 


blades of sweet-flag and looking for the ‘"grat- 
ers.” 

“No need of hurry,” said Nabby, “the sun’s 
an hour and a half high,” and she leaned over 
the curb of the bridge and looked at herself in 
the brook. She took off her sun-bonnet and 
fanned herself with it. Then she put a bright 
spotted fire-lily in her hair and watched the effect 
in the water. It certainly was a brilliant picture, 
framed by the brown stones and green rushes of 
the brook. 

“ Oh, Nabby,” cried Dolly, ‘‘look! There’s the 
stage and Hiel coming down the hill!” 

“ Sure e-nough !” said Nabby, in a tone of 
proper surprise, as if she had expected anything 
else to happen on that road at that time of the 
afternoon. “As true as I live and breathe it is 
Hiel and the st^e,” she added, “ and not a crea- 
ture in it. Now, we’ll get a ride home.” 

Nabby’s sun-bonnet hung on her arm ; her hair 
fell in a tangle of curls around her flushed cheeks 
as she stood waiting for Hiel to come up. Alto- 
gether she was a picture. 

That young man took in the points of the view 
at once and vowed in his heart that Nabby was 
the handsomest girl upon his beat. 

“Waitin’ for me to come along?” he said as 
he drew up. 

“Well, you’re sort o’ handy now and then,” 


SUMMER DA YS IN POGANUC, 


219 


said Nabby. “We’ve been huckleberrying all 
the afternoon, and are tired.” 

Hiel got down and opened the stage door 
and helped the two to get in with their berries 
and flowers. 

“You owe me one for this,” said Hiel when 
he handed in Nabby’s things. 

“Well, there’s one,” said Nabby, laughing and 
striking him across the eyes with her bunch of 
lilies. 

“ Never mind, miss. I shall keep the account,” 
said Hiel; and he gathered up the reins, resumed 
his high seat, made his grand entrance into Poga- 
nuc, and drew up at the parson’s door. 

For a week thereafter it was anxiously dis- 
cussed in various circles how Nabby and Dolly 
came to be in that stage. Where had they been ? 
How did it happen? The obscurity of the event 
kept Hiel on the brain of several damsels who 
had nothing better to talk about. 

And the day closed with a royal supper of 
huckleberries and milk. So went a specimen 
number of Dolly’s Saturday afternoons. 


CHAPTER XX. 


GOING ‘‘ A-CHESTNUTTING. 



HE bright days of summer were a 
short-lived joy at Poganuc. One hard- 
ly had time to say ‘‘ How beautiful !’* 
before it was past. By September 
came the frosty nights that turned the hills into 
rainbow colors and ushered in autumn with her 
gorgeous robes of golden-rod and purple asters. 
There was still the best of sport for the children, 
however ; for the frost ripened the shag-bark 
walnuts and opened the chestnut burrs, and the 
glossy brown chestnuts dropped down among 
the rustling yellow leaves and the beds of fringed 
blue gentians. 

One peculiarity of the Puritan New England 
regime is worthy of special notice, and that is 
the generosity and liberality of its dealing in 
respect to the spontaneous growths of the soil. 
The chestnuts, the hickory-nuts, the butternuts — ■ 
no matter upon whose land they grew — were 
free to whoever would gather them. The girls 
and boys roamed at pleasure through the woods 
and picked, unmolested, wherever they could find 


GOING ^^a-chestnutting: 


221 


the most abundant harvest. In like manner the 
wild fruits — grapes, strawberries, huckleberries, 
and cranberries — were for many years free to 
the earliest comer. This is the more to be re- 
marked in a community where life was . pecu- 
liarly characterized by minute economy, where 
everything had its carefully ascertained money- 
value. Every board, nail, brad, every drop of 
paint, every shingle, in house or barn, was 
counted and estimated. In making bargains and 
conducting domestic economies, there was the 
minutest consideration of the money-value of 
time, labor and provision. And yet their rigidly 
parsimonious habit of life presented this one re- 
markable exception, of certain quite valuable 
spontaneous growths left unguarded and un- 
appropriated. 

Our Fathers came to New England from a 
country where the poor man was everywhere 
shut out from the bounties of nature by game- 
laws and severe restrictions. Though his children 
might be dying of hunger he could not catch 
a fish, or shoot a bird, or snare the wild game 
of the forest, without liability to arrest as a 
criminal ; he could not gather the wild fruits of 
the earth without danger of being held a tres- 
passer, and risking fine and imprisonment. When 
the Fathers took possession of the New England 
forest it was in the merciful spirit of the Mosaic 


222 


GOING ^^a-chestnutting: 


law, which commanded that something should 
always be left to be gathered by the poor. 
From the beginning of the New England life 
till now there have been poor people, widows 
and fatherless children, who have eked out their 
scanty living by the sale of the fruits and nuts 
which the custom of the country allowed them 
freely to gather on other people’s land. 

Within the past fifty years, while this country 
has been filling up with foreigners of a different 
day and training, these old customs have been 
passing away. Various fruits and nuts, once held 
free, are now appropriated by the holders of 
the soil and made subject to restriction and cul- 
tivation. 

In the day we speak of, however, all the 
forest hills around Poganuc were a free nut-, 
orchard, and one of the chief festive occasions 
of the year, in the family at the Parsonage, 
was the autumn gathering of nuts, when Dr. 
Cushing took the matter in hand and gave his 
mind to it. 

On the present occasion, having just finished 
four sermons v/hich completely cleared up and 
reconciled all the difficulties between the doc- 
trines of free agency and the divine decrees, the 
Doctor was naturally in good spirits. He de- 
clared to his wife, “ There! my dear, that subject 
is disposed of. I never before succeeded in 


GOING ^^A-CHESTNUTTlNGr, 223 

really clearing it up ; but now the matter is done 
for all time.” Having thus wound up the sun 
and moon, and arranged the courses of the stars 
in celestial regions, the Doctor was as alert and 
light-hearted as any boy, in his preparations for 
the day’s enterprise. 

‘‘ Boys,” he said, we’ll drive over to Poganuc 
Ledge ; up there are those big chestnuts that 
groAv right out of the rock ; there’s no likelihood 
of anybody’s getting them— but I noticed the 
other day they were hanging full.” 

“ Oh, father, those trees are awful to climb.” 

Of course they are. I won’t let you boys 
try to climb them — mind that; but I’ll go up 
myself and shake them, and you pick up under- 
neath.” 

No Highland follower ever gloried more in 
the physical prowess of his chief than the boys 
in that of their father. Was there a tree he could 
not climb — a chestnut, or walnut, or butternut, 
however exalted in fastnesses of the rock, that he 
could not shake down ? They were certain there 
was not. The boys rushed hither and thither, 
with Spring barking at their heels, leaving open 
doors and shouting orders to each other con- 
cerning the various pails and baskets necessary 
to contain their future harvest. Mrs. Cushing 
became alarmed for the stability of her household 
arrangements. 


224 


GOING ^^a-chestnutting: 


‘‘ Now, father, please don’t take all my baskets 
this time,” pleaded she, “just let me arrange ” 

“Well, my dear, have it all your own way; 
only be sure to provide things enough.” 

“ Well, surely, they can ail pick in pails or 
cups, and then they can be emptied into a bag,” 
said Mrs. Cushing. “ You won’t get more than 
a bushel, certairdy.” 

“ Oh yes, v/e shall — three or four bushels,” said 
Will, triumphantly. 

“ There’s no end cf what v/e shall get when 
father goes,” said Bob. “ Y/hy, you’ve no idea 
how he rattles ’em down.” 

Meanwhile Mrs. Cushing and Nabby were 
packing a hamper with bread-and-butter, and 
tea-rusks, and unlimited ginger-bread, and dough- 
nuts crisp and brown, and savory ham, and a 
bottle of cream, and coffee all ready for boiling 
in the pot, and tea-cups and spoons — everything, 
ill short, ready for a gipsy encampment, while the 
parson’s horse stood meekly absorbing an extra 
ration of oats in that contemplative attitude which 
becomes habitual to good family horses, espe- 
cially of the ministerial profession. Mrs. Cushing 
and the Doctor, with Nabby and Doily, and the 
hamper and baskets, formed the load of the light 
wagon, v/hile Will and Bob were both mounted 
upon “the colt”— a scrawny, ewe-necked beast, 
who had long outgrown this youthful designation. 


GOING ^^A-CHESTNUTTINGr 


225 


The boys, however, had means best known to 
themselves of rousing his energies and keeping 
him ahead of the wagon in a convulsive canter, 
greatly to the amusement of Nabby and Dolly. 

Our readers would be happy could they fol- 
low the party along the hard, stony roads, up 
the winding mountain-paths, where the trees, 
ilushing in purple, crimson and gold, seemed to 
shed light on their paths; where beds of fringed 
gentian seemed, as the sunlight struck them, to 
glow like so many sapphires, and every leaf of 
every plant seemed to be passing from the green 
of summer into come quaint new tint of autum- 
nal splendor. Here and there groups of pines 
or tall hemlocks, with their heavy background 
Cl solemn green, threw out the flamboyant tra- 
cery of the forest in startling distinetness. Here 
and there, as they passed a bit of lov/ land, the 
swamp maielcs seemed really to burn like crim- 
son flames, and the clumps of black alder, with 
their vivid scarlet berries, exalted the effect of 
color to the very highest and most daring result. 
No artist ever has ventured to put on canvas 
the exact copy of the picture that nature paints 
for us every year in the autumn months. There 
arc things the Almighty Artist can do that no 
earthly imitator can more than hopelessly ad- 
mire. 

As to Dolly, she was like a bird held in a 


226 


GOING ^^a-chestnutting:' 

leash, full of exclamations and longings, now to 
pick “ those leaves,” and then to gather “ those 
gentians,” or to get “those lovely red berries;” 
but was forced to resign herself to be car- 
ried by. 

“ They would all fade before the day is 
through,” said her mother ; “ wait till we come 
home at night, and then, if you’re not too tired, 
you may gather them.” Dolly sighed and' re- 
signed herself to wait. 

Wc shall not tell the joys of the day : how 
the Doctor climbed the trees victoriously, how 
the brown, glossy chestnuts flew down in showers 
as he shook the limbs, and how fast they were 
gathered by busy Angers below. Not merely 
chestnuts, but walnuts, and a splendid butternut 
tree, that grew in the high cleft of a rocky 
ledge, all were made to yield up their treasures 
till the bags were swelled to a most auspicious 
size. 

Then came the nooning, when the boys delight- 
ed in making a roaring hot Are, and the coffee 
was put on to boil, and Nabby spread the table- 
cloth and unpacked the hamper on a broad, flat 
rock around which a white foam of moss 
formed a soft, elastic seat. 

The Doctor was most entertaining, and related 
stories of the Ashing and hunting excursions of 
his youth, of the trout he had caught and the 















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GOING '^A-CHESTNUTTING: 


227 


ducks he had shot. The boys listened vvith cars 
ot emulation, and Dolly sighed to think she never 
was to be a man and do all these fine things that 
her brothers were going to do. 

But in the midst of all came Abel Moss, a 
hard-visaged farmer from one of the upland 
farms, who, seeing the minister’s wagon go by, 
had come to express his mind to him concerning a 
portion of his last Sunday’s sermon; and the 
Doctor, who but a moment before had thought 
only of trout and wild ducks, sat down by the 
side of Abel on a fragment of rock and began 
explaining to him the difference between the laws 
of matter and the laws of mind in moral govern- 
ment, and the difference between divine sover- 
eignty as applied to matter and to mind. 

The children wandered off during the discus- 
sion, which lasted some time ; but when the 
western sunbeams, sloping through the tree- 
trunks, warned them that it was time to return, 
the Doctor’s wagon might have been seen 
coming down the rough slope cf the mountain. 

‘‘ There, my dear. I’ve set Moss right,” he said. 
“ There was a block in his wheels that I’ve taken 
out. I think he’ll go all straight now. Moss has 
a good head ; when he once sees a thing, he does 
see it, — and I think I’ve clinched the nail with 
him to-day.” 


CHAPTER XXL 


dolly’s second CHRISTMAS. 



|NCE more had Christmas come round in 
Poganuc; once more the Episcopal 
church was being dressed with ground- 
pine and spruce; but this year economy 
had begun to make its claims felt. An illumina- 
tion might do very well to open a church, but 
there were many who said ‘‘ to what purpose is 
this waste?” when the proposition was made to 
renew it yearly. Consequently it was resolved 
to hold the Christmas Eve service with only that 
necessary amount of light which would enable 
the worshipers to read the prayers. 

The lines in Poganuc were now drawn. The 
crowd who flock after a new thing had seen the 
new thing, and the edge of curiosity was some- 
what dulled. Both ministers had delivered their 
Christmas sermons, to the satisfaction of them- 
selves and their respective flocks, and both con- 
gregations had taken the direction of their 
practical course accordingly. 

On this Christmas Eve, therefore, Dolly was 
228 


DOLLY* S SECOND CffEISTMAS. 


229 


not racked and torn with any violent temptation 
to go over to the church, but went to bed at 
her usual hour with a resigned and quiet spirit. 
She felt herself a year older, and more than a 
year wiser, than when Christmas had first dawned 
upon her consciousness. 

W c have seen that the little maiden was a most 
intense and sympathetic partisan, and during the 
political discussions of the past year she had 
imbibed the idea that the Episcopal party were 
opposed to her father. Nay, she had heard with 
burning indignation that Mr. Simeon Coan had 
said that her father was not a regularly ordained 
minister, and therefore had no right to preach or 
administer ordinances. Dolly had no idea of 
patronizing by her presence people who ex- 
pressed such opinions. Whoever and whatever 
in the world might be in error, Dolly was sure 
her father never could be in the wrong, and went 
to sleep placidly in that belief. 

It was not altogether pleasant to Mrs. Cushing 
to receive a message from Mis’ Persis that she 
would come and make up her candles for her on 
the 25th of December. In a figurative and 
symbolical point of view, the devoting that day 
to the creation of the year’s stock of light might 
have seemed eminently appropriate. But the 
making of so many candles involved an amount 
of disagreeable particulars hard to conceive in 


230 


DOLLY'S SECOND CHRISTMAS. 


our days, when gas and kerosene make the 
lighting of houses one of the least of cares. 

In the times we speak of, candle-making for a 
large household was a serious undertaking, and 
the day devoted to it was one that any child 
would remember as an unlucky one for childish 
purposes of enjoyment, seven-fold worse in its 
way even than washing-day. Mrs. Cushing still 
retained enough of the habits of her early educa- 
tion to have preferred a quiet day for her 
Christmas. She would willingly have spent it in 
letter-writing, reading and meditation, but when 
Mis’ Persis gave her time and labor it seemed 
only fair to allow her to choose her own day. 

So, upon this Christmas morning. Mis’ Persis 
appeared on the ground by day-dawn. A great 
kettle was slung over the kitchen fire, in which 
cakes of tallow were speedily liquefying ; a frame 
was placed quite across the kitchen to sustain 
candle-rods, with a train of boards underneath to 
catch the drippings, and Mis’ Persis, with a brow 
like one of the Fates, announced : “ Now we 
can’t hev any young ’uns in this kitchen to-day 
and Dolly saw that there was no getting any 
attention in that quarter. 

Mis’ Persis, in a gracious Saturday afternoon 
mood, sitting in her own tent- door dispensing 
nospitalities and cookies, was one thing; but 
Mis* Persis in her armor, with her loins girded 


DOLLY^S SECOND CHRISTMAS, 


231 


and a hard day’s work to be conquered, was 
quite another: she was terrible as Minerva with 
her helmet on. 

Dinner-baskets for all the children were hastily 
packed, and they were sent off to school with 
the injunction on no account to show their faces 
about the premises till night. The Doctor, 
warned of what was going on, retreated to his 
study at the top of the house, where, serenely 
above the lower cares of earth, he sailed off 
into President Edwards’s treatise on the nature 
of true virtue, concerning which he \vas pre- 
paring a paper to read at the next Association 
meeting. 

That candles were a necessity of life he was 
well convinced, and by faith he dimly accepted 
the fact that one day in the year the whole house 
was to be devoted and given up to this manu- 
facture; and his part of the business, as he un- 
derstood it, was, clearly, to keep himself out of 
the way till it was over. 

“There won’t be much of a dinner at home, 
anyway,” said Nabby to Dolly, as she packed 
her basket with an extra doughnut or two. 
“ I’ve got to go to church to-day, ’cause I’m 
one of the singers, and your ma’ll be busy waitin’ 
on her ; so we shall just have a pick-up dinner, 
and you be sure not to come home till night; 
by that time it’ll be all over.” 


232 


DOLLY'S SECOND CHRISTMAS, 


Dolly trotted off to school well content witli 
the prospect before her: a nooning, with leave 
to play with the girls at school, was not an un- 
pleasant idea. 

But the first thing that saluted her on her 
arrival was that Bessie Lewis — her own dear, 
particular Bessie— ^was going to have a Christ- 
mas party at her house that afternoon, and was 
around distributing invitations right and left 
among the scholars with a generous freedom. 

We are going to have nuts, and raisins, and 
cake, and mottoes,’' said Bessie, with artless 
triumph. The news of this bill of fare spread 
like wildfire through the school. 

Never had a party been heard of which con- 
templated such a liberal entertainment, for the 
rising generation of Poganuc v/Cre by no means 
blas^ with indulgence, and raisins and almonds 
stood for grandeur \vith them. But these mottoes^ 
which consisted of bits of confectionery wrapped 
up in printed couplets of sentimental poetry, 
were an unheard-of refinement. Bessie assured 
them that her papa had sent clear to Boston 
for them, and whoever got one would have his 
or her fortune told by it. 

The school was a small, select one, comprising 
the children of all ages from the best families 
of Poganuc. Both boys and girls, and all with 
great impartiality, had been invited. Miss Tit* 


DOLLY'S SECOND CHRISTMAS, 


233 


come, the teacher, quite readily promised to dis- 
miss at three o’clock that afternoon any scholar 
who should bring a permission from parents, 
and the children nothing doubted that such a 
permission was obtainable, 

Dolly alone saw a cloud in the horizon. She 
had been sent away with strict injunctions not 
to return till evening, and children in those days 
never presumed to make any exceptions in obey- 
ing an absolute command of their parents. 

But, of course, you will go home at noon 
and ask your mother, and of course she’ll let 
you ; won’t she, girls ?” said Bessie. 

‘‘ Oh, certainly ; of course she will,” said all the 
older girls, because you know a party is a thing 
that don’t happen every day, and your mother 
would think it strange if you didnt come and ask 
her.” So too thought Miss Titcome, a most 
exemplary, precise and proper young lady, who 
always moved and spoke and thought as became 
a schoolmistress, so that, although she was in 
reality only twenty years old, Dolly considered 
her as a very advanced and ancient person — if 
anything, a little older than her father and 
mother. 

Even she was of opinion that Dolly might 
properly go home to lay a case of such impor- 
tance before her mother; and so Dolly rushed 
home after the morning school was over, running 


234 


DOLLY'S SECOND CHRISTMAS. 


with all her might and increasing in mental ex- 
citement as she ran. Her bonnet blew off upon 
her shoulders, her curls flew behind her in the 
Avind, and she most inconsiderately used up the 
little stock of breath that she would want to set 
her cause in order before her mother. 

Just here we must beg any mother and house- 
keeper to imagine herself in the very midst of the 
most delicate, perplexing and laborious of house- 
hold tasks, when interruption is most irksome 
and perilous, suddenly called to discuss Avith a 
child some neAv and startling proposition to Avhich 
at the moment she cannot even give a thought. 

Mrs. Cushing Avas sitting in the kitchen Avith 
Mis’ Persis, by the side of a melted caldron of 
taiioAv, kept in a fluid state by the heat of a port- 
able furnace on Avhich it stood. A long train of 
half-dipped candles hung like so many stalactites 
from the frames on which the rods rested, and 
the two Avere patiently dipping set after set and 
replacing- them again on the frame. 

‘'As sure as I’m alive! if there isn’t Dolly 
Cushing cornin’ back — runnin’ and tcarin’ like 
a Avild cretur’,” said Mis’ Persis. “ She’ll be in 
here in a minute and knock everything doAvn I” 

Mrs. Cushing looked, and with a quick move- 
ment stepped to the door. 

“Dolly! AA^hat are you here for? Didn’t I tell 
you not to come home this noon?” 


DOLLY'^S SECON-D CHRISTMAS, 


235 


Oh, Mamma, there’s going to be a party at 
General Lewis’s — Bessie’s party — and the girls 
are all going, and mayn’t I go?” 

“ No, you can't ‘ it’s impossible,” said her 
mother. “Your best dress isn’t ready to v/ear, 
and there’s nobody can spend time to get you 
ready. Go right back to school.’' 

“ But, Mamma ” 

“ Go !” said her mother, in the decisive tone 
that mothers used in the old days, v/hen arguing 
with children was not a possibility. 

“ What’s all this about ?” asked the Doctor, 
looking out of the door. 

“Why,” said Mrs. Cushing, “there's going to 
be a party at General Lewis's, and Dolly is wild 
to go. It’s just impossible for me to attend to 
her now.” 

“ Oh, I don't want her intimate at Lewis's ; he's 
a Dem.ocrat and an Episcopalian,” said the Doc- 
tor, and immediately he came out behind his wife. 

“ There ; run away to school, Dolly,” he said. 
“Don’t trouble your mother; you don’t want to 
go to parties; why, it’s foolish to think of it. 
Run away now, and don't think any more about 
it — there’s a good girl!” 

Dolly turned and went back to school, the 
tears freezing on her cheek as she v/ent. As for 
not thinking any more about it — that was 
impossible. 


DOLLY'' S SECOND CHRISTMAS, 


236 

When three o’clock came, scholar after scholar 
rose and departed, until at last Dolly was the 
only one remaining in the school-room. 

Miss Titcome made no comments upon the 
event, but so long as one scholar was left she 
conscientiously persisted in her duties towards 
her. She heard Dolly read and spell, and then 
occupied herself with writing a letter, while 
Dolly sewed upon her allotted task. Dolly’s 
work was a linen sheet, which was to be turned. 
It was to be sewed up on one side and ripped out 
on the other — two processes which seemed espe- 
cially dreary to Dolly, and more particularly so 
now, when she was sitting in the deserted school- 
room. Tears fell and fell’ on the long, uninterest- 
ing seam which seemed to stretch on and on 
hopelessly before her; and she thought of all the 
other children playing at oats, pease, beans and 
barley grows,” of feasting on almonds and raisins, 
and having their fortunes told by wonderful 
mottoes bought in Boston. The world looked 
cold and dark and dreary to Dolly on this her 
second Christmas. She never felt herself in- 
jured; she never even in thought questioned 
that her parents were doing exactly right by 
her— she only felt that just here and now the 
right thing was very disagreeable and very hard 
to bear. 

When Dolly came home that night the coast 


DOLLY'S SECOND CHRISTMAS. 


237 


was clear, and the candles were finished and 
put away to harden in a freezing cold room; 
the kitchen was once more restored, and Nabby 
bustled about getting supper as if nothing had 
happened. 

I really feel sorry about poor little Dolly,” 
said Mrs. Cushing to her husband. 

“Do you think she cared much?” asked the 
Doctor, looking as if a new possibility had struck 
his mind. 

“Yes, indeed, poor child, she went away cry- 
ing ; but what could I do about it ? I couldn’t 
stop to dress her.” 

“ Wife, we must take her somewhere to make 
up for it,” said the Doctor. 

Just then the stage stopped at the door and 
a bundle from Boston was handed in. Dolly’s 
tears were soon wiped and dried, and her mourn- 
ing was turned into joy v/hen a large jointed 
London doll emerged from the bundle, the 
Christmas gift of her grandmother in Boston. 

Dolly’s former darling was old and shabby, 
bnt this was of twice the size, and with cheeks 
exhibiting a state of the most florid health. 

Besides this there was, as usual in Grand- 
mamma’s Christmas bundle, something for every 
member of the family ; and so the evening went 
on festive wings. 

Poor little Dolly ! only that afternoon she had 


DOLLY'S SECOND CHRISTMAS, 


238 

watered with her tears the dismal long straight 
seam, Avhich stretched on before her as life some- 
times does to us, bare, disagreeable and cheerless. 
She had come home crying, little dreaming of 
the joy just approaching; but before bed-time no 
cricket in the hearth was cheerier or more noisy. 
She took the new dolly to bed with her, and 
could hardly sleep, for the excitement of her 
company. 

Meanwhile, Hicl had brought the Doctor a 
message to the following effect : 

I v/as drivin’ by Tim Hawkins’s, and Mis’ 
Hawkins she comes out and says they’re goin’ to 
hev an apple-cuttin’ there to-morrow night, and 
she would like to hev you and Mis’ Cushin’ and 
all your folks come — Nabby and all.” 

The Doctor and his lady of course assented. 

“V/al, then. Doctor — ef it’s all one to you,” 
continued Hiel, “I’d like to take ye over in my 
new double sleigh. I’ve jest got two new strings 
o’ bells up from Boston, and I think we’ll sort o’ 
make the snow fly. S’pose there’d be no objec- 
tions to takin’ my mother ’long with ye?” 

“ Oh, Hicl, v/c shall be delighted to go in 
company with your mother, and we’re ever so 
much obliged to you,” said Mrs. Cushing. 

“ Wal, I’ll be round by six o’clock,” said Hiel. 

“ Then, wife,” said the Doctor, “ we’ll take 
Dolly, and make up for the loss of her party.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE APPLE-BEE. 


&^^|UNCTUALLY at six o’clock Kiel’s 
ra two-horses, with all their bells jingling, 

the door of the parsonage, 
whence Tom and Bill, who had been 
waiting with caps and mittens on for the last half 
hour, burst forth with irrepressible shouts of 
welcome. 

Take care now, boys; don’t haul them buffalo 
skins out on t’ the snow,” said Kiel. Don’t get 
things in a muss gen’ally ; wait for your ma and 
the Doctor. Got to stow the grown folks in 
fust ; boys kin hang on anywhere.” 

And so first came Mrs. Cushing and the Doctor, 
and were installed on the back seat, with Dolly 
in between. Then hot bricks were handed in to 
keep feet warm, and the buffalo robe was tucked 
down securely. Then Nabby took her seat by 
Kiel in front, and the sleigh drove round for old 
Mrs. Jones. The Doctor insisted on giving up 
his place to her and tucking her ^varmly under 
the buffalo robe, while he took the middle seat 
and acted as moderator between the boys, who 

239 


240 


THE APPLE^BEE, 


were in a wild state of hilarity. Spring, with 
explosive barks, raced first on this and then on 
that side of the sleigh as it flew swiftly over the 
smooth frozen road. 

The stars blinked white and clear out of a deep 
blue sky, and the path wound up-hill among 
cedars and junipers and clumps of mountain 
laurel, on whose broad green leaves the tufts of 
snow lay like clusters of white roses. The keen 
clear air was full of stimulus and vigor ; and so 
Hiel’s proposition to take the longest way met 
with enthusiastic welcome from all the party. 
Next to being a bird, and having wings, is the 
sensation of being borne over the snow by a pair 
of spirited horses who enjoy the race, apparently, 
as much as those they carry. Though Hiel 
contrived to make the ride about eight miles, it 
yet seemed but a short time before the party 
drove up to the great red farm-house, whose 
lighted windows sent streams of radiant welcome 
far out into the night. 

The fire that illuminated the great kitchen of 
the farm-house was a splendid sight to behold. 
It is, alas, with us only a vision and memory of 
the past ; for who in our days can afford to 
keep up the great fire-place, where the back-logs 
were cut from the giants of the forest and the 
fore-stick was as much as a modern man could 
lift? And then the glowing fire-palace built 


THE APPLE-BEE, 


241 


thereon ! That architectural pile of split and 
seasoned wood, over which the flames leaped and 
danced and crackled like rejoicing genii— what 
a glory it was ! The hearty, bright, warm hearth 
in those days stood instead of fine furniture and 
handsome pictures. The plainest room becomes 
beautiful and attractive by fire-light, and when 
men think of a country and home to be fought 
for and defended they think of the fireside. 

Mr. Timothy Hawkins was a thrifty farmer and 
prided himself on always having the best, and the 
fire that was crackling and roaring up the chim- 
ney tha't night was, to use a hackneyed modern 
expression, a work of art.” The great oak 
back-log had required the strength of four men 
to heave it into its place ; and above that lay 
another log scarcely less in size ; while the fore- 
stick was no mean bough of the same tree. A 
bed of bright solid coals lay stretched beneath, 
and the lighter blaze of the wood above was con- 
stantly sending down contributions to this glow- 
ing reservoir. 

Of course, on an occasion like this, the best 
room ” of the house was open, with a bright fire 
lighting up the tall brass andirons, and revealing 
the neatly-fitted striped carpet of domestic 
manufacture, and the braided rugs, immortal 
monuments of the never-tiring industry of the 
housewife. Here first the minister and his wife 


242 


THE APPLE-BEE. 


and Dolly were inducted with some ceremony, 
but all declared their immediate preference of the 
big kitchen, where the tubs of rosy apples and 
golden quinces were standing round, and young 
men, maids, and matrons were taking their places 
to assist in the apple-bee. 

If the Doctor was a welcome guest in the 
stately circles of Poganuc Center, he was far 
more at home in these hearty rural gatherings. 
There was never the smallest room for jealous}^ 
on the part of his plainer people, that he cared 
more for certain conventional classes of society 
than for them, because all instinctively felt that in 
heart he was one of themselves. Like many of 
the educated men of New England, he had been a 
farmer’s boy in early days, and all his pleasantest 
early recollections were connected with that 
simple, wholesome, healthful, rural life. Like 
many of the New England clergy, too, he was 
still to some extent a practical farmer, finding 
respite from brain labor in wholesome out-door 
work. His best sermons were often thought out 
at the plow or in the corn-field, and his illustra- 
tions and enforcements of truth were those of a 
man acquainted with real life and able to inter- 
pret the significance of common things. His 
people felt a property in him as their ideal man — 
the man who every Sunday expressed for them, 
better than they could, the thoughts and inquiries 


THE APPLE-BEE. 


243 


and aspirations which rose dimly in their own 
minds. 

I could ha’ said all that myself ef I’d only 
hed the eddication ; he puts it so one can see it 
can’t be no other way,” was the comment once 
made on a sermon of the Doctor’s by a rough 
but thoughtful listener; and the Doctor felt more 
pleased with such applause than even the more 
cultured approval of Judge Belcher. 

In the wide, busy kitchen there was room 
enough for all sorts of goings on. The Doctor 
was soon comfortably seated, knee to knee, in a 
a corner with two or three controversial-looking 
old farmers, who were attacking some of the con- 
clusions of his last Sunday’s sermon. Of the two 
results, the Doctor always preferred a somewhat 
combative resistance to a sleepy assent to his 
preaching, and nothing delighted him more than 
a fair and square argumentative tilt, showing that 
the points he made had been taken. 

But while the Doctor in his corner discussed 
theology, the young people around the tubs of 
apples were having the very best of times. 

The apple, from the days of Mother Eve and 
the times of Paris and Helen, has been a fruit full 
of suggestion and omen in the meetings of young 
men and maidens ; and it was not less fruitful this 
evening. Our friend Kiel came to the gathering 
with a full consciousness of a difficult and delicate 


«44 


THE APPLE^BEE. 


part to bs sustained. It is easy to carry on four 
or five distinct flirtations when one is a handsome 
young stage-driver and the fair objects of atten- 
tion live at convenient distances along the route. 
But when Almiry Ann, and Lucindy Jane, and 
Lucretia, and Nabby are all to be encountered 
at one time, what is a discreet young man to 
do? 

Kiel had come to the scene with an armor of 
proof in the shape of a new patent apple-peeler 
and corer, warranted to take the skin from an 
apple with a quickness and completeness hitherto 
unimaginable. This immediately gave him a cen- 
tral position and drew an admiring throng about 
him. The process of naming an apple for each 
girl, and giving her the long ribbon of peel to 
be thrown over her head and form fateful initial 
letters on the floor, was one that was soon in 
vigorous operation, with much shrieking and 
laughing and opposing of claims among the young 
men, all of whom were forward to claim their 
own initials when the peeling was thrown by the 
girl of their choice. And Kiel was loud in his 
professions of jealousy when by this mode of 
divination Almira Smith was claimed to be 
secretly favoring Seth Parmelee, and Nabby's 
apple-peeling thrown over her head formed a 
cabalistic character which was vigorously con- 
tended for both by Jim Sawin and Ike Peters. 


THE APPLE-BEE, 


245 

As the distinction between an I and a J is of a 
very shadowy nature, the question apparently 
was likely to remain an open one; and Hiel 
declared that it was plain that nobody cared for 
/ii7n, and that he was evidently destined to be an 
old bachelor. 

It may be imagined that this sprightly circle 
of young folks were not the ones most particu- 
larly efficient in the supposed practical labors of 
the evening. They did, probably, the usual 
amount of work done by youths and maids to- 
gether at sewing societies, church fairs and 
other like occasions, where by a figure of speech 
they are supposed to be assisting each other. 
The real work of the occasion was done by 
groups of matrons who sat with their bright tin 
pans in lap, soberly chatting and peeling and 
cutting, as they compared notes about pies and 
puddings and custards, and gave each other 
recipes for certain Eleusinian mysteries of do- 
mestic cookery. 

Yet, let it not be supposed that all these 
women thought of nothing but cookery, for in 
the corner where the minister was talking were 
silent attentive listeners, thoughtful souls, who 
had pushed their chairs nearer, and who lost not 
a word of the discussion on higher themes. 
Never was there a freer rationalism jthan in the 
inquiries which the New England theology tob 


246 


THE APPLE-BEE. 


crated and encouraged at every fireside. The 
only trouble about them was that they raised 
awful questions to which there is no answer, and 
when the Doctor supposed he had left a triumph- 
ant solution of a difficulty he had often left only 
a rankling thorn of doubt. 

A marked figure among the Doctor’s circle 
of listeners is Nabby’s mother. A slight figure 
in a dress of Quakerlike neatness, a thin old 
delicate face, with its aureole of white hair and 
its transparent cap-border — the expression of the 
face a blending of thoughtful calmness and in- 
vincible determination. Her still, patient blue 
eyes looked as if they habitually saw beyond 
things present to some far off future. She was, 
in fact, one of those quiet, resolute women 
whose power lay more in doing than in talk- 
ing. She had passed, through the gate of silence 
and self-abnegation, into that summer-land where 
it is always peace, Vvhere the soul is never more 
alone, because God is there. 

Now, as she sits quietly by, not a word escapes 
her of what her minister is saying; for though 
at her husband’s command she has left her 
church, her heart is still immovably fixed in its 
old home. 

Her husband had stubbornly refused to join 
the social circle, though cordially invited. How- 
ever, he offered no word of comment or dissent 


THE APPLE^BEE. 


247 


when his wife departed with all her sons to the 
gathering. With her boys, Mary Higgins was 
all-powerful. They obeyed the glance of her 
eye; they listened to her softest word as they 
never heeded the stormy imperiousness of their 
father. 

She looks over with satisfaction to where her 
boys are joining with full heart in the mirth of 
the young people, and is happy in their happi- 
ness. The Doctor comes and sits beside her, 
and inquires after each one; and the measure 
of her content is full. She does not need to ex- 
plain to him why she has left her church; she 
sees that he understands her position and her 
motives; but she tells him her heart and her 
hopes, her ambition for her darling son, Abner, 
who alone of all her boys has the passion for 
learning and aspires toward a college education ; 
and the Doctor bids her send her boy to him 
and he will see what can be done to help him 
on his way. More talk they have, and more 
earnest, on things beyond the veil of earth — on 
the joy that underlies all the sorrows of this life 
and brightens the life beyond — and the Doctor 
feels that in the interview he has gained more 
than he has given. 

Long before the evening was through, the 
task of apple-cutting was accomplished, the tubs 
and pans cleared away, and the company sat 


248 the APPLE-BEE, 

about the fire discussing the nuts, apples and 
cider which were passed around, reinforced by 
doughnuts and loaf-cake. Tales of forest life, of 
exploits in hunting and fishing, were recounted, 
and the Doctor figured successfully as a raconteur , 
for he was an enthusiast in forest lore, and had 
had his share of adventure. 

In those days there was still a stirring back- 
ground of wilderness life, of adventures with 
bears, panthers, and wild Indians, and of witches 
and wizards and ghostly visitors and haunted 
houses, to make a stimulating fireside literature; 
and the nine o’clock bell ringing loudly was the 
first break in the interest of the circle. All 
rose at once, and while the last greetings were 
exchanged, Kiel and the other young men 
brought their horses to the door, and the whole 
party were, in their several sleighs, soon flying 
homeward. 

Our little Dolly had had an evening of un- 
mixed bliss. Everybody had petted her, and 
talked to her, and been delighted with her 
sayings and doings, and she was carrying home 
a paper parcel of sweet things which good 
Mrs. Hawkins had forced into her hand at 
parting. 

As to Hiel and Nabby, they were about on 
an even footing. If he had been devoted to 
Lucinda Jane Parsons she had distinguished Jim 


THE APPLE- BEE. 


249 


Sawin by marks of evident attention, not for- 
getting at proper intervals to pay some regard 
to Ike Peters; so that, as she complacently said 
to herself, ‘ he didn’t get ahead of her' 

Of course, on the way home, in the sleigh 
with Doctor and Mrs. Cushing, there v/ere no 
advantages for a settling-up quarrel, but Nabby 
let fly many of those brisk little missiles of sar- 
casm and innuendo in which her sex have so 
decided a superiority over the other, and when 
arrived at the door of the house, announced 
peremptorily that she was Agoing straight to 
bed and wasn’t goin’ to burn out candles for 
nobody that night!’ 

Hiel did not depart broken-hearted, however; 
and as he reviewed the field mentally, after his 
return home, congratulated himself that things 
were going on “ ’bout as well as they could be.” 

A misunderstanding to be made up, a quarrel 
to be settled, was, as he viewed it, a fair stock 
in trade for a month to come. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

SEEKING A DIVINE IMPULSE. 



N the scenes which we have painted we 
have shown our Dr. Cushing mingling 
as man with men, living a free, natural, 
healthy human life. Yet underneath 
all this he bore always on his spirit a deeper 
and heavier responsibility. 

The ideal of a New England minister’s calling 
was not the mere keeping up of Sunday services, 
with two regular sermons, the pastoral offices 
of visiting the sick, performing marriages, and 
burying the dead. It was not merely the over- 
sight of schools, and catechising of children, and 
bringing his people into a certain habitual out- 
ward routine of religion, though all these were 
included in it. But, deeper than ail these, there 
was laid upon his soul the yearning desire to 
bring every one in his flock to a living, conscious 
union with God ; to a life whose source and pur- 
poses were above this earth and tending heaven- 
ward. In whatever scene of social life he met 
his people his eye was ever upon them, studying 
250 



SEEKING A DIVINE IMPULSE. 


251 


their characters, marking their mental or moral 
progress, hoping and praying for this final result. 
Besides the stated services of Sunday, our good 
Doctor preached three or four evenings in a 
week in the small district school-houses of the 
outlying parishes, when the fervor of his zeal 
drew always a full audience to listen. More 
especially now, since the late political revolution 
had swept away the ancient prescriptive defenses 
of religion and morals, and thrown the whole 
field open to individual liberty, had the Doctor 
felt that the clergy must make up in moral in- 
fluence what had passed away of legal restraints. 

With all his soul he was seeking a revival of 
religion ; a deep, pathetic earnestness made itself 
felt in his preaching and prayers, and the more 
spiritual of his auditors began to feel themselves 
sympathetically affected. Of course, all the 
church members in good standing professed to 
believe truths which made life a sublime reality, 
and religion the one absorbing aim. The New 
Testament gives a glorified ideal of a possible 
human life, but hard are his labors who tasks 
himself to keep that ideal uppermost among 
average human beings. 

The coarse, the low, the mean, the vulgar, is 
ever thrusting itself before the higher and more 
delicate nature, and claiming, in virtue of its very 
brute strength, to be the true reality. 


252 


SEEKING A DIVINE IMPULSE, 


New England had been founded as a theocracy. 
It had come down to Dr. Cushing’s time under 
laws and customs specially made and intended to 
form a Christian State, and yet how far it was 
below the teachings of the New Testament none 
realized so deeply as the minister himself. 

He was the confidant of all the conflicts be- 
tween different neighborhoods, of the small 
envies, jealousies and rivalries that agitated 
families and set one part of his parish against 
another. He was cognizant of all the little un- 
worthy gossip, the low aims, the small ambitions 
of these would-be Christians, and sometimes his 
heart sank at the prospect. 

Yet the preaching, the prayers, the intense 
earnestness of the New England religious life 
had sometimes their hour of being outwardly 
felt; the sacred altar-flame that was burning 
in secret in so many hearts threw its light into 
the darkness, and an upspringing of religious 
interest was the result. 

The quarrel which had separated Zeph Higgins 
from the church had spread more or less un- 
wholesome influence through the neighborhood, 
and it was only through some such divine impulse 
as he sought that the minister could hope to 
bring back a better state of things. In this labor 
of love he felt that he had a constant, powerful 
co-operative force in the silent, prayerful woman, 


SEEKING A DIVINE IMPULSE, 


253 


v/ho walked by Zeph’s side as a guardian angel. 
Had it not been lor her peculiar talent for 
silence and peace the quarrel would have gone 
much farther and produced wider alienation ; but 
there is nothing that so absolutely quenches 
the sparks of contention as silence. Especially is 
this the case with the silence of a strong, deter- 
mined nature, that utters itself only to God. For 
months Zeph had been conscious of a sort of 
invisible power about his wife — a power that 
controlled him in spite of himself. It was that 
mysterious atmosphere created by intense feeling 
without the help of words. 

People often, in looking on this couple, shook 
their heads and said, ‘‘ How could that woman 
ever have married that man?” 

Such observers forget that the woman may 
see a side of the man’s nature that they never 
see, and that often the chief reason why a man 
wins a woman’s heart is that she fancies herself 
to have discerned in him that which no other 
could discern, an undiscovered realm peculiarly 
her own. The rough, combative, saturnine man 
known as Zeph Higgins had had his turn of 
being young, and his youth’s blossoming-time 
of love, when he had set his heart on this Mary, 
then an orphan, alone in the world. Like many 
another woman, she was easily persuaded that 
the stormy, determined, impetuous passion thus 


254 


SEEKING A DIVINE IMPULSE. 


seeking her could take no denial; was of the 
same nature with the kind of love she felt able 
to give in return — love faithful, devoted, unseek- 
ing of self, and asking only to bless. 

But, in time, marriage brought its revelations, 
and life lay before her a bare, cold, austere 
reality, with the lover changed into the toiling 
fellow-laborer or the exacting master. 

A late discernment of spirit showed her that 
she was married to a man whose love for her 
was all demand, who asked everything from her 
and had little power of giving in return ; that, 
while he needed her, and clung to her at times 
with a sort of helpless reliance, he had no 
power of understanding or sympathizing with 
her higher nature, and that her life, in all that 
she felt most deeply and keenly, must be a sol- 
itary one. 

These hours of disillusion come to many, 
and are often turning points in the soul’s his- 
tory. Rightly understood, they may prove the 
seed-bed where plants of the higher life strike 
deepest root. Mary Higgins was one of those 
who found in her religion the strength of her 
soul. The invisible Friend, whose knock is heard 
in every heart-trial, entered in to dwell with 
her, bringing the peace which the world cannot 
give ; and henceforth she was strong in spirit, and 
her walk was in green pastures and by still waters. 


SEEKING A DIVINE IMPULSE. 


255 

They greatly mistake the New England relig- 
ious development who suppose that it was a 
mere culture of the head in dry metaphysical 
doctrines. As in the rifts of the granite rocks 
grow flowers of wonderful beauty and delicacy, 
so in the secret recesses of Puritan life, by the 
fireside of the farm-house, in the contemplative 
silence of austere care and labor, grew up 
religious experiences that brought a heavenly 
brightness down into the poverty of common- 
place existence. 

The philosophic pen of President Edwards 
has set before us one such inner record, in the 
history of the wife whose saintly patience and 
unworldly elevation enabled him to bear the 
reverses which drove him from a comfortable 
parish to encounter the privations of missionary 
life among the Indians. And such experiences 
were not uncommon among lowly natures, who 
lacked the eloquence to set them forth in words. 
They lightened the heart, they brightened the 
eye, they made the atmosphere of the home 
peaceful. 

Such was the inner life of her we speak of. 
At rest in herself, she asked ‘nothing, yet was 
willing to give everything to the husband and 
children who were at once her world of duty 
and of love. Year in and out, she kept step 
in life with a beautiful exactness, so perfect 


SEEKING A DIVINE IMPULSE, 


256 

and complete in every ministry of the household 
that those she served forgot to thank her, as we 
forget to thank the daily Giver of air and sun- 
shine. Zeph never had known anything at home 
but neatness, order, and symmetry, regular hours 
and perfect service. 

His wife had always been on time, and on duty, 
and it seemed to him like one of the immutable 
laws of nature that she should do so. He was 
proud of her housekeeping, proud of her virtues, 
as something belonging to himself, and, though 
she had no direct power over his harsher moods 
of combativeness and self-will, she sometimes 
came to him as a still small voice after the 
earthquake and the tempest, and her words then 
had weight with him, precisely because they 
were few, and seldom spoken. 

She had been silent all through the stormy 
quarrel that had rent him away from his church. 
Without an argument where argument would 
only strengthen opposition, she let his will have 
its way. She went with him on Sundays to the 
Episcopal Church, and sat there among her sons, 
a lowly and conscientious worshiper, carefully 
following a service which could not fail to bring 
voices of comfort and help to a devout soul 
like hers. Nevertheless, the service, to any one 
coming to it late in life and with no previous 
training, has its difficulties, which were to her 


SEEKING A DIVINE IMPULSE. 


257 


embarrassing, and to him, in spite of his proud 
self-will, annoying. Zeph had the Spartan con- 
tempt for everything aesthetic, the scorn of 
beauty which characterized certain rough stages 
of New England life. He not only did not like 
symbolic forms, but he despised them as effemi- 
nate impertinences; and every turn and move- 
ment that he was compelled to make in his new 
ritualistic surroundings was aggravating to his 
temper. To bend the knee at the name of 
Jesus, to rise up reverently when the words of 
Jesus were about to be read in the Gospel of 
the day, were acts congenial to his wife as they 
were irksome to him; and, above all, the idea 
of ecclesiastical authority, whether exercised by 
rector, bishop or church, woke all the refractory 
nerves of opposition inherited from five gener- 
ations of Puritans. So that Zeph was as little 
comfortable in his new position as his worst 
enemy could have desired. Nothing but the 
strength of his obstinate determination not to 
yield a point once taken kept him even out- 
wardly steady. But to go back to his church, 
to confess himself in the wrong and make up 
his old quarrel with the Deacon, would be worse 
than to stay where he was. 

The tenacity and devotion with which some 
hard natures will cleave to a quarrel which em- 
bitters their very life-blood is one of the strange 


SEEKING A DIVINE IMPULSE, 


25S 

problems of our human nature. In the heredi- 
tary form of family prayer that Zeph Higgins 
used every day, there was the customary phrase 
‘‘We are miserable sinners;” and yet Zeph, like 
many another man who repeats that form in the 
general, would rather die than confess a fault in 
any particular; and in this respect we must ad- 
mit that he was not, after all, a very exceptional 
character. How often in our experience do we 
meet a man brave enough, when once fully com- 
mitted, to turn a square corner and say “I was 
wrong”? If only such have a stone to cast at 
Zeph Higgins, the cairn will not be a very high 
one. 

Zeph never breathed an opposing word when 
his wife, every Priday evening, lighted the lan- 
tern, and with all her sons about her set off to 
the evening prayer-meeting in the little red 
school-house, though after his quarrel with the 
Deacon he never went himself. Those weekl}^ 
meetings, when she heard her minister and joined 
in the prayers and praises of her church, were 
the brightest hours of her life, and her serene 
radiant face, following his words with rapt at- 
tention, was a help and inspiration to her pastor. 

“ There is a revival begun over there,” he 
said to his wife as they were riding home from 
one of his services. “ It is begun in the heart 
of that good woman. She has long been pray- 


SEEKING A DIVINE IMPULSE. 


259 

ing for a revival, and I am confident that her 
prayers will be answered.” 

They were answered, but in a way little 
dreamed of by any one 

The prayers we offer for heavenly blessings 
often come up in our earthly soil as plants of 
bitter sorrow. 

So it proved in this case. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

‘Hn such an hour as ye think not.’ 



her 


NE morning in the latter part of spring 
Zeph Higgins received a shock which 
threw his whole soul into confusion. 
His wife, on rising to go forth to 
wonted morning cares, had fainted dead 
away and been found lying, apparently lifeless, 
on the bed, when her husband returned for his 
breakfast. 

Instantly everything was in commotion. The 
nearest neighbor was sent for, and restoratives 
applied with such skill as domestic experience 
could suggest, and one of the boys dispatched 
in all haste for the doctor, with orders to bring 
Nabby at once to take her mother’s place. 

The fainting fit proved of short duration, but 
was followed by a violent chill and a rise of 
fever, and when the doctor arrived he reported 
a congestion of the lungs threatening the gravest 
results. 

Forthwith the household was to be organized 
for sickness. A fire was kindled in the best bed- 
room and the patient laid there; Mis’ Persis was 

260 



“/A^ SUCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOTT 261 

sent for and installed as nurse; Nabby became 
housekeeper, and to superficial view the usual 
order reigned. Zeph went forth to the labors 
of the field, struggling with a sort of new 
terror; there was an evil threatening his house, 
against the very thought and suggestion of which 
he fought with all his being. His wife could not, 
should not, ought not to be sick, — and as to dying, 
that was not to be thought of! What could he 
do without her? What could any of them do 
without her? During the morning’s work that 
was the problem that he kept turning and turn- 
ing in his mind — what life would be without her. 
Yet, when Abner, who was working beside him, 
paused over his hoe and stood apparently lost 
in thought, he snapped a harsh question at him 
with a crack like the sound of a lash. 

^^What ye doin’ there?” 

Abner started, looked confused and resumed 
his work, only saying, “I was thinking about 
Mother.” 

“Nonsense! Don’t make a fool of yourself. 
Mother’ll come all right.” 

“The doctor said”- said Abner. 

“Don’t tell me nothin’ what the doctor said; 
I don’t want to hear on’t,” said Zeph, in a high 
voice; and the two hoes worked on in silence 
for a while, till finally Zeph broke out again. 

“Wal! what did the doctor say ? Out with 


262 ^UCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOTT 

it ; as good say it 's think it. What did the 
doctor say? Why don’t you speak?” 

“ He said she was a very sick woman,” an- 
swered Abner. 

‘‘He’s a fool. I don’t think nothin’ o’ that 
doctor’s jedgment. I’ll have Dr. Sampson over 
Irom East Poganuc. Your mother’s got the 
best constitution of any woman in this neighbor- 
hood.” 

“Yes; but she hasn’t been well lately, and 
I’ve seen it,” said Abner. 

“That’s all croakin’. Don’t believe a word 
on’t. Mother’s been right along, stiddy as a 
clock; ’taint nothin’ but one o’ these ’ere pesky 
spring colds she ’s got. She ’ll be up and ’round 
by to-morrow or next day. I’ll have another 
doctor, and I’ll get her wine and bark, and 
strengthenin’ things, and Nabby shall do the 
work, and she’ll come all right enough.” 

‘‘ I’m sure I hope so,” said Abner. 

“Hope! what d’ye say hope for? I ain’t a 
goin’ to hope nothin’ ’bout it. I know so ; she’s 
got to git well — ain’t no two ways ’bout that.” 

Yet Zeph hurried home an hour before his 
usual time and met Nabby at the door. 

“Wal, ain’t your mother gettin’ better?” 

There were tears in Nabby ’s eyes as she 
answered, 

“Oh, dear! she’s been a raisin’ blood. Doctor 


‘‘/A^ SUCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOTS 263 

says it’s from her lungs. Mis’ Persis says it’s a 
bad sign. She’s very weak — and she looks so 
pale !” 

“They must give her strengthenin’ things,” 
said Zeph. “Do they?” 

“They’re givin’ what the Doctor left. Her 
fever’s beginnin’ to rise now. Doctor says we 
mustn’t talk to her, nor let her talk.” 

“ Wal, I’m a goin’ up to see her, anyhow. I 
guess I’ve got a right to speak to my own 
wife.” And Zeph slipped off his heavy cowhide 
boots, and went softly up to the door of the 
room, and opened it without stopping to knock. 

The blinds were shut; it seemed fearfully dark 
and quiet. His wife was lying with her eyes 
closed, looking white and still ; but in the center 
of each pale cheek was the round, bright, burning 
spot of the rising hectic. 

Mis’ Persis was sitting by her with the author- 
itative air of a nurse who has taken full possession; 
come to stay and to reign. She was whisking 
the flies away from her patient with a feather 
fan, which she waved forbiddingly at Zeph as he 
approached. 

“ Mother,” said he in an awe-*struck tone, bend- 
ing over his wife, “don’t you know me?” 

She opened her eyes ; saw him ; smiled and 
reached out her hand. It was thin and white, 
burning with the rising fever. 


264 SUCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOTr 

Don’t you feel a little better?” he asked. 
There was an imploring eagerness in his tone. 

“ Oh, yes ; I’m better.” 

“You’ll get well soon, won’t you?” 

“ Oh, yes; I shall be well soon,” she said, look- 
ing at him with that beautiful bright smile. 

His heart sank as he looked. The smile was 
so strangely sweet — and all this quiet, this still- 
ness, this mystery! She was being separated 
from him by impalpable shadowy forces that 
could not be battled with or defied. In his heart 
a v/arning voice seemed to say that just so 
quietly she might fade from his sight — pass away, 
and be forever gone. The thought struck cold 
to his heart, and he uttered an involuntary groan. 

His wife opened her eyes, m.oved slightly, and 
seemed as if she would speak, but Mis’ Persis 
put her hand authoritatively over her mouth. 

Don’t you say a word,” said she. 

Then turning with concentrated energy on 
Zeph, she backed him out of the room and shut 
the door upon him and herself in the entry before 
she trusted herself to speak. When she did, it 
was as one having authority. 

“ Zephaniah Higgins,” she said, air you crazy ? 
Do you want to kill your wife? Ef ye come 
round her that v/ay and git her a-talkin’ she’ll 
bleed from her lungs agin, and that’ll finish her. 
You’ve jest got to shet up and submit to the 


“/iV* SUCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOTT 265 

Lord, Zephaniah Higgins, and that’s what you 
hain’t never done yit; you’ve got to know that 
the Lord is goin’ to do his sovereign will and 
pleasure with your wife, and you’ve got to be 
still. That’s all. You can’t do nothin’. We 
shall all do the best we can ; but you’ve jest got 
to wait the Lord’s time and pleasure.” 

So saying, she went back into the sick-room 
and closed the door, leaving Zeph standing 
desolate in the entry. 

Zeph, like most church members of his day, 
had been trained in theology, and had often ex- 
pressed his firm belief in what was in those days 
spoken of as the doctrine of divine sovereignty.” 

A man’s idea of his God is often a reflection 
of his own nature. The image of an absolute 
monarch, who could and would always do ex- 
actly as he pleased, giving no account to any one 
of his doings, suited Zeph perfectly as an ab- 
stract conception ; but when this resistless awful 
Power was coming right across his path, the 
doctrine assumed quite another form. 

The curt statement made by Mis’ Persis had 
struck him with a sudden terror, as if a flash 
of lightning had revealed an abyss opening under 
his feet. That he was utterly helpless in his 
Sovereign’s hands he saw plainly ; but his own 
will rose in rebellion — a rebellion useless and 
miserable. 


266 SUCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOTP 


His voice trembled that night as he went 
through the familiar words of the evening pray- 
er; a rush of choking emotions almost stopped 
his utterance, and the old words, worn smooth 
with . use, seemed to have no relation to the tur- 
bulent tempest of feeling that was raging in his 
heart. 

After prayers he threw down the Bible with 
an impatient bang, bolted for his room and shut 
himself in alone. 

^‘Poor Father! he takes it hard,” said Nabby, 
wiping her eyes. 

‘^He takes everything hard,” said Abner. “I 
don’t know how we’ll get along with him, now 
Mother isn’t round.” 

“Well, let’s hope Mother’s goin’ to get well,” 
said Nabby. “ I can’t — I ain’t goin’ to think 
anything else.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


DOLLY BECOMES ILLUSTRIOUS. 



iT the Parsonage the illness in Zeph’s 
household brought social revolution. 

The whole burden of family ministra- 
tion, which had rested on Nabby’s 
young and comely shoulders, fell with a sudden 
weight upon those of Mrs. Cushing. This was 
all the more unfortunate because the same 
exigency absorbed the services of Mis’ Persis, 
who otherwise might have been relied on to fill 
the gap. 

But now was Dolly’s hour for feeling her own 
importance and assuming womanly cares. She 
rushed to the front with enthusiasm and attacked 
every branch of domestic service, with a zeal not 
always according to knowledge but making her 
on the whole quite an efficient assistance. She 
washed and wiped dishes, and cleared, and 
cleaned, and dusted, and set away, as she had 
seen Nabby do ; she propped herself on a stool 
at the ironing-table and plied the irons vigor- 
ously; and, resenting the sug:gestion that she 

267 


268 DOLLY BECOMES ILLUSTRIOUS. 

should confine herself to towels and napkins, 
struck out boldly upon the boys’ shirts and other 
complicated tasks, burning her fingers and heat- 
ing her face in the determination to show her 
prowess and ability. 

“ Dolly is really quite a little woman,” she 
overheard her mother saying to her father ; and 
her bosom swelled with conscious pride and she 
worked all the faster. 

“ Now, you boys must be very careful not to 
make any more trouble than you can help,” she 
said with an air of dignity as Will and Bob 
burst into the kitchen and surprised her at the 
ironing-table. “ Nabby is gone, and there is 
nobody to do the work but me.” 

“ Upon my word, Mrs. Puss !” said Will, stop- 
ping short and regarding the little figure with a 
serio-comic air. Plow long since you’ve been so 
grand ? How tall we’re getting in our own eyes 
— oh my!” and Will seized her off the ironing 
stool and, perching her on his shoulder, danced 
round the table with her in spite of her indignant 
protests. 

Dolly resented this invasion of her dignity 
with all her little might, and the confusion called 
her mother down out of the chamber where she 
had been at work. 

‘‘ Boys, I’m astonished at you,” said she. Now 
Mrs. Cushing had been astonished ” at these 


DOLLY BECOMES ILLUSTRIOUS. 269 

same boys for abcv.t thirteen or fourteen years, 
so that the sensation could not be quite over- 
powering at this time. 

“ Well, Mother,” said Will, with brisk assur- 
ance, setting Dolly down on her stool, “ I was 
only giving Dolly a ride,” and he looked up in 
her face with the confident smile that generally 
covered all his sins, and brought out an answer- 
ing smile on the face of his mother. 

“ Come now, boys,” she said, “ Nabby has gone 
home; you must be good, considerate children, 
make as little trouble as possible and be all the 
help you can.” 

But, Mother, Dolly was taking such grown- 
up airs, as if she was our mother. I had just to 
give her a lesson, to show her who she was.” 

“ Dolly is a good, helpful little girl, and I don’t 
knov/ what I should do without her,” said Mrs. 
Cushing ; “ she docs act like a grown-up woman, 
and I am glad of it.” 

Dolly’s face flushed with delight ; she felt that 
at last she had reached the summit of her am- 
bition : she was properly appreciated ! 

‘‘And you boys,” continued Mrs. Cushing, 
“ must act like grown-up men, and be considerate 
and helpful.” 

“All right. Mother ; only give the orders. Bob 
and I can make the fires, and bring in the wood, 
and All the tea-kettle, and do lots of things.” And, 


DOLLY BECOMES ILLUSTRIOUS, 


270 

to do the boys justice, they did do their best to 
lighten the domestic labors of this interregnum. 

The exigency would have been far less serious 
were it not that the minister’s house in those days 
was a sort of authorized hotel, not only for the 
ministerial brotherhood but for all even remotely 
connected with the same, and all that miscellane- 
ous drift-wood of hospitality that the eddies of 
life cast ashore. The minister’s table was always 
a nicely-kept one ; the Parsonage was a place 
where it was pleasant to abide ; and so the guest- 
chamber of the Parsonage was seldom empty. 
In fact, this very week a certain Brother Waring, 
an ex-minister from East Poganuc, who wanted 
to consult the Poganuc Doctor, came, unan- 
nounced, with his wife and trunk, and they settled 
themselves comfortably down. 

Such inflictions were in those days received in 
the literal spirit of the primitive command to 
*‘use hospitality without grudging;” but when a 
week had passed and news came that Mrs. Hig- 
gins was going down to the grave in quick con- 
sumption, and that Nabby would be wanted at 
home for an indefinite period, it became neces- 
sary to find some one to fill her place at the Par- 
sonage, and Hiel Jones’s mother accepted the 
position temporarily — considering her services in 
the minister’s family as a sort of watch upon the 
walls of Zion. Not that she was by any means 


I 


DOLLY BECOMES ILLUSTRIOUS, 


271 

insensible to the opportunity of receiving worldly 
wages; but she wisned it explicitly understood 
that she was not going out to service. She was 
“ helpin’ Mis’ Cushing.” The help, however, was 
greatly balanced in this case by certain attendant 
hindrances such as seem inseparable from the 
whole class of “ lady helps.” 

Mrs. Jones had indeed a very satisfactory capa- 
bility in all domestic processes ; her bread was of 
the whitest and finest, her culinary skill above 
mediocrity, and she was an accomplished laun- 
dress. But so much were her spirits affected by 
the construction that might possibly be put on 
her position in the family that she required sooth- 
ing attentions and expressions of satisfaction and 
confidence every hour of the day to keep her at 
all comfortable. She had stipulated expressly to 
be received at the family table, and, further than 
this, to be brought into the room and introduced 
to all callers; and, this being done, demeaned 
herself in a manner so generally abused and mel- 
ancholy that poor Mrs. Cushing could not but 
feel that the burden which had been taken off 
from her muscles had been thrown with double 
weight upon her nerves. 

After a call of any of the ‘‘town-hill” aris- 
tocracy, Mrs. Jones would be sure to be found 
weeping in secret places, because ‘Mrs. Colonel 
Davenport had looked down on her,’ or the 


272 


DOLLY BECOMES ILLUSTRIOUS. 


Governor’s lady Midn’t speak to her/ and she 
‘ should like to know what such proud folks 
was goin’ to do when they got to heaven!’ 
Then there was always an implication that if 
ministers only did their duty all these distinc- 
tions of rank would cease, and everybody be 
just as good as everybody else. The poor body 
had never even dreamed of a kingdom of heaven 
where the Highest was ^‘as him that serveth;” 
and what with Mrs. Jones’s moans, and her tears, 
and her frequent sick headaches, accompanied 
by abundant use of camphor, Mrs. Cushing, in 
some desperate moments, felt as if she would 
rather die doing her own work than wear her- 
self out in the task of conciliating a substitute. 

Then, though not a serious evil, it certainly was 
somewhat disagreeable to observe Mrs. Jones’s 
statistical talents and habits of minute inspection, 
and to feel that she was taking notes which 
would put all the parish in possession of precise 
information as to the condition of Mrs. Cushing’s 
tablecloths, towels, napkins, and all the minutiae 
of her housekeeping arrangements. There is, of 
course, no sin or harm in such particularity; 
but almost every lady prefers the shades of poetic 
obscurity to soften the details of her domestic 
interior. In those days, when the minister was 
the central object of thought in the parish, it 
was specially undesirable that all this kind of 


DOLLY BECOMES ILLUSTRIOUS, 


273 


information should be distributed, since there 
were many matrons who had opinions all ready 
made as to the proper manner in which a 
minister’s wife should expend his salary and 
order his household. 

It was therefore with genuine joy that, after 
a fortnight’s care of this kind, a broad-faced, 
jolly African woman was welcomed by Mrs. 
Cushing to her kitchen in place of Mrs. Jones. 
Dinah was picked up in a distant parish, and 
entered upon her labors with an unctuous sat- 
isfaction and exuberance that was a positive 
relief after the recent tearful episode. It is true 
she was slow, and somewhat disorderly, but she 
was unfailingly good-natured, and had no dig- 
nity to be looked after; and so there was rest 
for a while in the Parsonage. 


CHAPTER XXVL 


THE VICTORY. 



|UMMER with its deep blue skies was 
bending over the elms of Poganuc. 
The daisies were white in the mead- 
ows and the tall grass was nodding its 
feathery sprays of blossom. The windows of 
the farm houses stood open, with now and then 
a pillow or a bolster lounging out of them, air- 
ing in the sunshine. The hens stepped hither 
and thither with a drowsy continuous cackle of 
contentment as they sunned themselves in the 
warm embracing air. 

In the great elm that overhung the roof of 
Zeph Higgins’s farm house was a mixed babble 
and confusion of sweet bird voices. An oriole 
from her swinging nest caroled cheerfully, and 
bobolinks and robins replied, and the sounds 
blended pleasantly with the whisper and flutter 
of leaves, as soft summer breezes stirred them. 

But over one room in that house rested the 
shadow of death ; there, behind the closed blinds, 
in darkened stillness days passed by ; and watch- 
ers came at night to tend and minister; and 

274 



THE VICTORY, 


275 

bottles accumulated on the table ; and those who 
came entered softly and spoke with bated breath ; 
and the doctor was a daily visitor; and it was 
known that the path of the quiet patient who 
lay there was steadily going down to the dark 
river. 

Every one in the neighborhood knew it: for, 
in the first place, everybody in that vicinity, as 
a matter, of course, knew all about everybody 
else ; and then, besides that, Mrs. Higgins had 
been not only an inoffensive, but a much esteemed 
and valued neighbor. Her quiet step, her gentle 
voice, her skillful ministry had been always at 
hand where there had been sickness or pain to 
be relieved, and now that her time was come 
there was a universal sympathy. Nabby’s shelves 
were crowded with delicacies made up and sent 
in by one or another good wife to tempt the 
failing appetite. In the laborious, simple life 
that they were living in those days, there was 
small physiological knowledge, and the leading 
idea in most minds in relation to the care of 
sickness was the importance of getting the pa- 
tient to eat; for this end, dainties that might 
endanger the health of a well person were often 
sent in as a tribute to the sick. Then almost 
every house-mother had her own favorite spe- 
cific, of sovereign virtue, which she prepared 
and sent in to increase the army of bottles vrhich 


THE VICTORY, 


276 

always gathered in a sick-room. Mis’ Persis, 
however, while graciously accepting these trib- 
utes, had her own mental reservations, and often 
slyly made away with the medicine in a manner 
that satisfied the giver and did not harm the 
patient. Quite often, too, Hiel Jones, returning 
on his afternoon course, stopped his horses at the 
farm-house door and descended to hand in some 
offering of sympathy and good will from friends 
who lived miles away. 

Hiel did not confine himself merely to trans- 
mitting the messages of neighbors, but interested 
himself personally in the work of consolation, 
going after Nabby wherever she might be found — 
at the spinning wheel, in the garret, or in the 
dairy below — and Nabby, in her first real trouble, 
was so accessible and so confiding that Hiel 
found voice to say unreproved what the brisk 
maiden might have flouted at in earlier days. 

‘‘ I’m sure I don’t know what we can do with- 
out Mother,” Nabby said one day, her long eye- 
lashes wet with tears. “ Home won’t ever seem 
home without her.” 

“Well,” answ’ered Hiel, “ I know what / shall 
want you to do, Nabby ; come to me ; and you 
and I’ll have a home all to ourselves.” 

And Nabby did not gainsay the word, but only 
laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed, and 
said he was a real true friend and she should 


THE VICTORY, 


277 


never forget his kindness; and Hicl kissed and 
comforted her with all sorts of promises of 
future devotion. Truth to sa}^ he found Nabby 
in tears and sorrow more attractive than when 
she sparkled in her gayest spirits. 

But other influences emanated from that 
shadowy room — influences felt through all the 
little neighborhood. Puritan life had its current 
expressions significant of the intense earnestness 
of its faith in the invisible, and among these was 
the phrase “ a triumphant death.” There seemed 
to be in the calm and peaceful descent of this 
quiet spirit to the grave a peculiar and luminous 
clearness that fulfilled the meaning of that idea. 
The peace that passeth understanding ” bright- 
ened, in the sunset radiance, into ^‘joy unspeak- 
able and full of glory.” Her decline, though 
rapid and steady, was painless: and it seemed 
to those who looked upon her and heard her 
words of joy and trust that the glory so visible 
to her must be real and near— as if in that sick- 
chamber a door had in very deed been opened 
into heaven. 

When she became aware that the end was 
approaching she expressed a wish that her own 
minister should be sent for, and Dr. Cushing 
came. The family gathered in her room. She 
was propped up on pillows, her eyes shining 
and cheeks glowing with the hectic flush, and an 


THE VICTOR Y. 


278 

indescribable brightness of expression in her face 
that seemed almost divine. 

The Doctor read from Isaiah the exultant 
words: “Arise, shine, for thy light is come, and 
the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. For 
behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and gross 
darkness the people, but the Lord shall arise on 
thee, and his glory shall be seen on thee. The 
sun shall no more be thy light by day, neither 
for brightness shall the moon give light to thee, 
but the Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting 
light, and thy God thy glory. Thy sun shall no 
more go down nor thy moon withdraw itself, 
for the Lord shall be thy everlasting light, and 
the days of thy mourning shall be ended.” In 
the prayer that followed he offered thanks that 
God had given unto our sister the victory, and 
enabled her to rejoice in hope of the glory of 
God, while yet remaining with them as a witness 
of the faithfulness of the promise. He prayed 
that those dear to her might have grace given 
them to resign her wholly to . the will of God 
and to rejoice with her in her great joy. 

When they rose from prayer, Zeph, who had 
sat in gloomy silence through all, broke out : 

“ I can’t — I cant give her up ! It’s hard on me. 
I cant do it^ and I won’t.” 

She turned her eyes on him, and a wonderful 
expression of love and sorrow and compassion 


THE VICTORY. 


279 


came into her face. She took his hand, saying, 
with a gentle gravity and composure: 

“ I want to see my husband alone.” 

When all had left the room, he sunk down on 
his knees by the bed and hid his face. The bed 
was shaken by his convulsive sobbing. “ My dear 
husband,” she said, '‘you know I love you.” 

“Yes — yes, and you are the only one that 
does — the only one that can. I’m hard and 
cross, and bad as the devil. Nobody could love 
me but you ; and I can’t — I wo7it — give you up !” 

“You needn’t give me up; you must come 
with me. I want you to come where I am ; I 
shall wait for you; you’re an old man — it won’t 
be long. But oh, do listen to me now. You 
can't come to heaven till you’ve put away all 
hard feeling out of your heart. You must make 
up that quarrel with the church. When you 
know you’ve been wrong, you must say so. I 
want you to promise this. Please do!” 

There was silence ; and Zeph’s form shook 
with the conflict of his feelings. 

But the excitement and energy which had 
sustained the sick woman thus far had been too 
much for her; a blood vessel was suddenly rup- 
tured, and her mouth filled with blood. She 
threw up her hands with a slight cry. Zeph 
rose and rushed to the door, calling the nurse. 

It was evident that the end had come. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE FUNERAL. 



|N that morning, before Dr. Cushing 
had left the Parsonage to go to the 
bedside of his dying parishioner, Dolly, 
always sympathetic in all that ab- 
sorbed her parents, had listened to the conver- 
sation and learned how full of peace and joy 
were those last days. 

When her father was gone, Dolly took her 
little basket and went out into the adjoining 
meadow for wild strawberries. The afternoon 
was calm and lovely; small patches of white 
cloud were drifting through the intense blue 
sky, and little flutters of breeze shook the 
white hats of the daisies as she wandered hither 
and thither among them looking for the straw- 
berries. Over on the tallest twig of the apple- 
tree in the corner of the lot a bobolink had 
seated himself, swinging and fluttering up and 
down, beating his black and white wings and 
singing a confused lingo about sweetmeats 

and sweetmeats,’* and “ cheer ’em and cheer 
»» 

em. 


This bobolink was one of Dolly’s special ac- 
280 


THE FUNERAL, ' 281 

quaintances. She had often seen him perched 
on this particular twig of the old apple-tree, 
doubtless because of a nest and family estab- 
lishment that he had somewhere in that neigh- 
borhood, and she had Earned to imitate his< 
jargon as she crept about in the tall grass; and 
so they two sometimes kept up quite a lively 
conversation. 

But this afternoon she was in no mood for 
chattering with the bobolink, for the strings of 
a higher nature than his had been set vibrating; 
she was in a sort of plaintive, dreamy revery — 
so sorry for poor Nabby, who was going to lose 
her mother, and so full of awe and wonder at 
the bright mystery now opening on the soul 
that was passing away. 

Dolly had pondered that verse of her cate- 
chism which says that ‘Hhe souls of believers 
at their death are made perfect in holiness, and 
do immediately pass into glory,” and of what 
that unknown glory, that celestial splendor, could 
be she had many thoughts and wonderings. 

She had devoured with earnest eyes Bunyan’s 
vivid description of the triumphal ascent to the 
Celestial City through the River of Death, and 
sometimes at evening, when the west was piled 
with glorious clouds which the setting sun 
changed into battlements and towers of silvered 
gold, Dolly thought she could fancy it was 


282 


THE FUNERAL. 


something like that beautiful land. Now it 
made her heart thrill to think that one she had 
known only a little while before — a meek, quiet, 
patient, good woman — was just going to enter 
upon such glory and splendor, to wear those 
wonderful white robes and sing that wonderful 
song. 

She filled her basket and then sat down to 
think about it. She lay back on the ground 
and looked up through the white daisies into 
the deep intense blue of the sk}’, wondering 
with a vague yearning, and wishing that she 
could go there too and see what it was all like. 
Just then, vibrating through the sunset air, came 
the plaintive stroke of the old Meeting-house 
bell. Dolly knew what that sound meant — a soul 

made perfect in holiness’' had passed into glory ; 
and with a solemn awe she listened as stroke 
after stroke tolled out the years of that patient 
earth-life, now forever past. 

It was a thrilling mystery to think of where 
she now was. She knew all now! she had seen! 
she had heard ! she had entered in ! Oh, what 
joy and wonder! 

Dolly asked herself should she too ever be so 
happy — she, poor little Dolly ; if she went up to 
the beautiful gate, would they let her in? Her 
father and mother would certainly go there; 
and they would surely want her too: couldn’t 


THE FUNERAL. 


283 

she go in with them ? So thought Dolly, vaguely 
dreaming, with the daisy-heads nodding over 
her, and the bobolink singing, and the bell toll- 
ing, while the sun was sinking in the west. At 
last she heard her father calling her at the 
fence, and made haste to take up her basket 
and run to him. 

The day but one after this Dolly went with 
her father and mother to the funeral. Funerals 
in those old days had no soothing accessories. 
People had not then learned to fill their houses 
with flowers, and soften by every outward ap- 
pliance the deadly severity of the hard central 
fact of utter separation. 

The only leaves ever used about the dead in 
those days were the tansy and rosemary — bitter 
herbs of affliction. Every pleasant thing in the 
house was shrouded in white; every picture 
and looking-glass in its winding-sheet. The 
coffin was placed open in the best front room, 
and the mourners, enveloped in clouds of black 
crape, sat around. The house on this occasion 
was crowded; wagons came from far and near; 
the lower rooms were all open and filled, and 
Dr. Cushing’s voice came faintly and plaintively 
through the hush of silence. 

ITe spoke tenderly of the departed We have 
seen our sister for many weeks waiting in the 
land of Beulah by the River of Death. Angels 


284 


THE FUNERAL, 


have been coming across to visit her; we have 
heard the flutter of their wings. We have seen 
her rejoicing in full assurance of hope, having 
laid down every earthly care ; we have seen her 
going down the dark valley, leaning on the Be-^ 
loved ; and now that we have met to pay the last 
tribute to her memory, shall it be with tears 
alone? If we love our sister, shall we not rejoice 
because she has gone to the Father? She has 
gone where there is no more siekness, no more 
pain, no more sorrow, no more death, and she 
shall be ever with the "Lord. Let us rejoice, 
then, and give thanks unto God, who hath given 
her the victory, and let us strive like her, by pa- 
tient continuance in well-doing, to seek for glory 
and honor and immortality.” 

And then arose the solemn warble of the old 
funeral hymn : 

Wliy should v/e mourn departing friends 
Or shake at death’s alarms? 

’Tis but the voiee that Jesus sends 

To eall them to his arms. . - 

Why should we tremble to convey 
Their bodies to the tomb? 

There the dear form of Jesus lay, 

And scattered all the gloom. 

“ Thence He arose, ascending high, 

And showed our feet the way; 

% Up to the Lord we, too, shall fly 

- At the great rising day. 


THE FUNERAL. 


285 


“ Then let the last loud trumpet sound, 

And bid our kindred rise ; 

Awake ! ye nations under ground ; 

Yc saints 1 ascend the skies !” 

The old tune of “ China,” with its weird ar- 
rangement of parts, its mournful yet majestic 
movement, was well fitted to express that mys- 
terious defiance of earth’s bitterest sorrow, that 
solemn assurance of victory over life’s deepest 
anguish, which breathes in those words. It is 
the major key invested with all the mournful 
pathos of the minor, yet breathing a grand sus- 
tained undertone of triumph — fit voice of that 
only religion which bids the human heart rejoice 
in sorrow and glory in tribulation. 

Then came the prayer, in which the feelings 
of the good man, enkindled by sympathy and 
faith, seemed to bear up sorrowing souls, as on 
mighty wings, into the regions of eternal peace. 

In a general way nothing can be more impress- 
ive, more pathetic and beautiful, than the Epis- 
copal Church funeral service, but it had been one 
of the last requests of the departed that her old 
pastor should minister at her funeral; and there 
are occasions when an affectionate and devout 
man, penetrated with human sympathy, can utter 
prayers such as no liturgy can equal. There are 
prayers springing heavenward from devout hearts 
that are as much superior to all written ones as 


286 


THE FUNERAL, 


living, growing flowers ont-bloom the dried treas- 
ures of the herbarium. Not always, not by every 
one, come these inspirations; too often what is 
called extemporary prayer is but a form, differing 
from the liturgy of the church only in being 
poorer and colder. 

But the prayer of Dr. Cushing melted and con- 
soled ; it was an uplift from the darkness of earthly 
sorrow into the grand certainties of the unseen; 
it had the undertone that can be given only by a 
faith to which the invisible is even more real than 
the things that are seen. 

After the prayer one and another of the com- 
pany passed through the room to take the last 
look at the dead. Death had touched her gently. 
As often happens in the case of aged people, 
there had come back to her face something of 
the look youth, something which told of a 
delicate, lily-like beauty which had long been 
faded. There was too that mysterious smile, 
that expression of rapturous repose, which is the 
seal of heaven set on the earthly clay. It seemed 
as if the softly-closed eyes must be gazing on 
some ineffable vision of bliss, as if, indeed, the 
beauty of the Lord her God was upon her. 

Among the mourners at the head of the coffin 
sat Zeph Higgins, like some rugged gray rock — 
stony, calm and still. He shed no tear, while 
his children wept and sobbed aloud ; only when 


THE FUNERAL, 


287 

the coffin-lid was put on a convulsive movement 
passed across his face. But it was momentary, 
and he took his place in the procession to walk 
to the grave in grim calmness. 

The graveyard was in a lovely spot on the 
Poganuc River. No care in those days had been 
bestowed to ornament or brighten these last 
resting-places, but Nature had taken this in hand 
kindly. The blue glitter of the river sparkled 
here and there through a belt of pines and hem- 
locks on one side, and the silent mounds were 
sheeted with daisies, brightened now and then 
with golden buttercups, which bowed their fair 
heads meekly as the funeral train passed over 
them. 

Arrived at the grave, there followed the usual 
sounds, so terrible to the ear of mourners — the 
setting down of the coffin, the bustle of prepara- 
tion, the harsh grating of ropes as the precious 
burden was lowered to its last resting-place. 
And then, standing around the open grave, they 
sang; 

“ My flesh shall slumber in the ground 
Till the last trumpet’s joyful sound. 

Then burst the chains, with sweet surprise, 

And in my Saviour’s image rise.’’ 

Then rose the last words of prayer, in which 
the whole finished service and all the survivors 
were commended to God. 

It was customary in those days for the head of 


288 


THE FUNERAL, 


a family to return thanks at the grave to the 
friends and neighbors who had joined in the last 
tribute of respect to the departed. There was a 
moment’s pause, and every eye turned on Zeph 
Higgins. He made a movement and stretched 
out his hands as if to speak ; but his voice failed 
him, and he stopped. His stern features were con- 
vulsed with the vain effort to master his feeling. 

Dr. Cushing saw his emotion and said, In 
behalf of our brother I return thanks to all the 
friends who have given us their support and sym- 
pathy on this occasion. Let us all pray that the 
peace of God may rest upon this afflicted family.” 
The gathered friends now turned from the grave 
and dispersed homeward. 

With the instinct of a true soul-physician, who 
divines mental states at a glance. Dr. Cushing 
forbore to address even a word to Zeph Hig- 
gins; he left him to the inward ministration of 
a higher Power. 

But such tact and reticence belong only to 
more instructed natures. There are never want- 
ing well-meaning souls who, with the very best 
intentions, take hold on the sensitive nerves of 
sorrow with a coarse hand. 

Deacon Peaslec was inwardly shocked to see 
that no special attempt had been made to “im- 
prove the dispensation” to Zeph’s spiritual state, 
and therefore felt called on to essay his skill. 


THE FUNERAL. 


289 

Well, my friend,” he said, coming up to him, 
I trust this affliction may be sanctified to 
you.” 

Zeph glared on him with an impatient move- 
ment and turned to walk away ; the Deacon, 
however, followed assiduously by his side, going 
on with his exhortation. 

‘‘You know it’s no use contendin’ with the 
Lord.” 

“Well, who’s ben a contendin’ with the Lord?” 
exclaimed Zeph, “ I haint.” 

The tone and manner were not hopeful, but 
the Deacon persevered. 

“We must jest let the Lord do what he will 
with us and ours.” 

“I hev let him — how was I goin’ to help it?” 

“We mustn’t murmur,” continued the Deacon 
in a feebler voice, as he saw that his exhorta- 
tion was not hopefully received. 

“Who’s ben a murmurin? /haint!” 

“Then you feel resigned, don’t you?” 

“I can’t help myself. I’ve got to make the 
best on ’t,” said Zeph, trying to out-walk him. 

“But you know ” 

“Let me alone, can’t ye?” cried Zeph in a 
voice of thunder; and the Deacon, scared and 
subdued, dropped behind, murmuring, “ Dreflul 
state o’ mind! poor critter, so unreconciled!— 
really awful!” 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

DOLLY AT THE WICKET GATE. 


HE next Sunday rose calm and quiet 
over the hills of Poganuc. 

There was something almost preter- 
natural in the sense of stillness and 
utter repose which the Sabbath day used to 
bring with it in those early times. The abso- 
lute rest from every earthly employment, the 
withholding even of conversation from temporal 
things, marked it ofT from ail other days. To 
the truly devout the effect was something the 
same as if the time had been spent in heaven. 
On this particular dewy, fresh summer morn- 
ing it seemed as if Nature herself were hushing 
her breath to hear the music of a higher sphere. 
Dolly stood at her open window looking out on 
the wooded hills opposite, feathered with their 
varied green, on the waving meadows with their 
buttercups and daisies, on the old apple tree 
in the corner of the lot where the bobolink was 
tilting up and down, chattering and singing with 
all his might She was thinking of what she had 
heard her father saying to her motlier at break- 

2go 




DOLLY AT THE WICKET GATE. 


291 


fast: how the sickness and death of one good 
woman had been blessed to all that neighbor- 
hood, and how a revival of religion was un- 
doubtedly begun there. 

All this made Dolly very serious. She thought 
a great deal about heaven, and perfectly longed 
to be quite sure she ever shou.ld get there. She 
often had wished that there were such a thing 
in reality as a Wicket Gate, and an old Inter- 
preter’s house, and a Palace Beautiful, for then 
she would set right off on her pilgrimage at 
once, and in time get to the Celestial City. But 
how to get this spiritual, intangible prepara- 
tion she knew not. To-day she knew was a 
sacramental Sunday,, and she should see all the 
good people taking that sacrificial bread and 
wine, but she should be left out. 

And how to get in! There were no Sunday- 
schools in those days, no hymns or teachings 
specially adapted to the child; and Dolly re- 
membered to have heard serious elderly people 
tell of how they were brought ‘‘under convic- 
tion” and suffered for days and weeks before 
the strange secret of mercy was revealed to 
them, and she wondered how she ever should 
get this conviction of sin. Poor Dolly had often 
tried to feel very solemn and sad and gloomy, 
and to think herself a dreadful sinner, but had 
never succeeded. She was so young and so 


292 


DOLL Y AT THE WICKE T GA 7E, 


healthy — the blood raced and tingled so in her 
young veins; and it she was pensive and sad a 
little while, yet, the first she knew, she would 
find herself racing after Spring, or calling to 
her brothers, or jumping up and down with her 
skipping rope, and feeling full as airy and gay 
as the bobolink across in the meadow. This 
morning she was trying her best to feel her 
sins and count them up; but the birds and the 
daisies and the flowers were a sad interruption, 
and she went to meeting quite dissatisfied. 

When she saw the white simple table and the 
shining cups and snowy bread of the Communion 
she inly thought that the service could have 
nothing for her — it would be all for those grown- 
up, initiated Christians. Nevertheless, when her 
father began to speak she was drawn to listen to 
him by a sort of pathetic earnestness in his voice. 

The Doctor was feeling very earnestly and 
deeply, and he had chosen a theme to awaken 
responsive feeling in his church. His text Avas 
the declaration of Jesus: “ I call you not servants, 
but friends;” and his subject was Jesus as the 
soul-friend offered to every human being. For- 
getting his doctrinal subtleties, he spoke with all 
the simplicity and tenderness of a rich nature 
concerning the faithful, generous, tender love of 
Christ, how he cared for the soul’s wants, how 
he was patient with its errors, how he gently led 


DOLLY AT THE WICKET GATE. 


293 

it along the way of right, how he was always 
with it, teaching its ignorance, guiding its wan- 
derings, comforting its sorrows, with a love un-^ 
wearied by faults, unchilled by ingratitude, till 
he brought it through the darkness of earth to 
the perfection of heaven. 

Real, deep, earnest feeling inclines to simplicity 
of language, and the Doctor spoke in words that 
even a child could understand. Dolly sat ab- 
sorbed, her large blue eyes gathering tears as 
she listened ; and when the Doctor said, Come, 
then, and trust your soul to this faithful Friend,” 
Dolly’s little heart throbbed “ I will.” And she 
did. For a moment she was discouraged by the 
thought that she had not had any conviction of 
sin ; but like a flash came the thought that Jesus 
could give her that as well as anything else, and 
that she could trust him for the whole. And so 
her little earnest child-soul went out to the won- 
derful Friend. She sat through the sacramental 
service that followed, with swelling heart and 
tearful eyes, and walked home filled with a new 
joy. She went up to her father’s study and fell 
into his arms, saying, “ Father, I have given 
myself to Jesus, and he has taken me. 

The Doctor held her silently to his heart a 
moment, and his tears dropped on her head. 

Is it so?” he said. “ Then has a new flower 
blossomed in the Kingdom this day. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


THE CONFLICT. 



HERE is one class of luckless mortals 
in this world of ours whose sorrows, 
though often more real than those of 
other people, never bring them any 
sympathy It is those in whom suffering ex- 
cites an irritating conflict, which makes them 
intolerable to themselves and others. The more 
they suffer the more severe, biting and bitter 
become their words and actions. The very sym- 
pathy they long for, by a strange contrariness 
of nature they throw back on their friends as 
an injury. Nobody knows where to have them, 
or how to handle them, and when everybody 
steers away from them they are inv/ardly deso- 
late at their loneliness. 

After the funeral train had borne away from 
the old brown farm-house the silent form of 
her who was its peace, its light, its comfort, 
Zeph Higgins v/andered like an unquiet spirit 
from room to room, feeling every silent memo- 
rial of her who was no longer there as a stab 
in the yet throbbing wound. Unlovely people 
294 



THE CONFLICT. 


are often cUi'*sed with an intense desire to be 
loved, and the more unlovely they grow the 
more intense becomes this desire. His love for 
^his wife had been unusually strong in the sense 
of what is often called loving — that is, he needed 
her, depended on her, and could not do without 
her. He was always sure that she loved him; 
he was always sure of her patient ear to what- 
ever he wished to say, of her wish to do to her 
utmost whatever he wanted her to do. Then 
he was not without a certain sense of the beauty 
and purity of her character, and had a sort of 
almost superstitious confidence in her prayers 
and goodness, like what the Italian peasant has 
in his patron saint. He felt a sort of helpless- 
ness and terror at the idea of facing life without 
her. Besides this, he was tormented by a secret 
unacknowledged sense of his own unloveliness: 
he was angry with himself — cursed himself, called 
himself hard names ; and he who quarrels with 
himself has this disadvantage, that his adversary 
is inseparably his companion — lies down and 
rises, eats, drinks and sleeps with him. 

What intensified this conflict was the remem- 
brance of his wife’s dying words, enjoining on 
him the relinquishment of the bitter quarrel 
which had alienated him from his church and 
his neighbors, and placed her in so false a posi- 
tion. 


THE CONFLICT, 


296 

He knew that he was in the wrong; he knew 
that she was m the right, and that those words 
spoken on her death-bed were God’s voice to 
him. But every nerve and fiber in him seemed 
to rebel and resist; he would not humble him- 
self; he would not confess; he would not take 
a step toward reconciliation. 

The storm that was raging within expressed 
itself outwardly in an impatience and irritability 
which tried his children to the utmost. Poor 
Nabby did her best to assume in the family all 
her mother’s cares, but was met at every turn 
by vexatious fault-finding. 

“ There now !” he said, coming out one morn- 
ing, “where’s my stockings? Everything’s being 
neglected — not a pair to put on !” 

“Oh yes. Father, I sat up and mended your 
stockings last night before I went to bed. I 
didn’t go into your room, because I was afraid 
of waking you ; but here they are on my basket.” 

“Give ’em here, then!” said Zeph harshly. 
“ I want my things where I know where they 
are. Your mother always had everything ready 
so I didn’t have to ask for. it.” 

“ Well, I never shall be as good as Mother if 
I try till I’m gray,” said Nabby, impatiently. 

“ Don’t you be snapping back at me,” said 
Zeph. “ But it’s jest so everywhere. Nobody 
won’t care for me now. I don’t expect it.” 


THE CONFLICT. 


297 


“Well, Father, Fm sure I try the best I can, 
and you keep scolding me all the time. It’s 
discouraging.” 

“ Oh, yes, Fm a devil, I suppose. Everybody’s 
right but me. Well, I shall be out of the way 
one of these days, and nobody’ll care. There 
ain’t a critter in the world cares whether Fm 
alive or dead— not even my own children.” 

The sparks flashed through the tears in 
Nabby’s eyes. She was cut to the soul by the 
cruel injustice of these words, and a hot and 
hasty answer rose to her lips, but was smothered 
in her throat. 

Nabby had become one of the converts of the 
recently-commenced revival of religion, and had 
begun to lay the discipline of the Christian 
life on her temper and her tongue, and found it 
hard work. As yet she had only attained so far 
as repression and indignant silence, while the 
battle raged tempestuously within. 

“ I’d like just to go off and leave things to take 
care of themselves,” she said to herself, “and 
then he’d see whether I don’t do anything. Try, 
and try, and try, and not a word said — nothing 
but scold, scold, scold. It’s too bad ! Flesh and 
blood can’t stand everything! Mother did, but 
I ain’t Mother. I must try to be like her, though', 
but it’s dreadful hard with Father. How did 
Mother ever keep so quiet and always be so 


THE CONFLICT. 


298 

pleasant? She used — to pray a great deal. 
Well, I must pray.” 

Yet if Nabby could have looked in at that 
moment and seen the misery in her father’s soul 
her indignation would have been lost in pity ; 
for Zeph in his heart knew that Nabby was a 
good, warm-hearted girl, honestly trying her 
very best to make her mother’s place good. He 
knew it, and when he was alone and quiet he felt 
it so that tears came to his eyes ; and yet this mis- 
erable, irritable demon that possessed him had led 
him to say these cruel words to her — words that 
he cursed himself for saying, the hour after. But 
on this day the internal conflict was raging 
stronger than ever. The revival in the neighbor- 
hood was making itself felt and talked about, and 
the Friday evening prayer-meeting in the school- 
house was at hand. 

Zeph was debating with himself whether he 
would take the first step towards reconciliation 
with his church by going to it. His wife’s dying 
words haunted him, and he thought he might at 
least go as far as this in the right direction ; but 
the mere suggestion of the first step roused a 
perfect whirlwind of opposition within him. 

Certain moral conditions are alike in all minds, 
and this stern, gnarled, grizzled old New England 
farmer had times when he felt exactly as Milton 
has described a lost archangel as feeling: 


THE CONFLICT. 


299 


Oh, then, at last relent ? Is there no place 
Left for repentance? none for pardon left? 

None left but by submission, and that word 
Disdain forbids me and my dread of shame.’* 

It is curious that men are not generally 
ashamed of any form of anger, wrath or malice ; 
but of the first step towards a nobler nature— the 
confession of a wrong — they are ashamed. 

Never had Zeph been more intolerable and 
unreasonable to his sons in the field-work than 
on this day. 

He was too thoroughly knit up in the habits 
of a Puritan education to use any form of profane 
language, but no man knew so well how to pro- 
duce the startling effect of aft oath without swear- 
ing; and this day he drove about the field in 
such a stormy manner that his sons, accustomed 
as they were to his manners, were alarmed. 

Tell you what,” said one of the boys to 
Abner, *‘the old man’s awful cranky to-day. 
Reely seems as if he was a little bit sprung. I 
don’t know but he’s going crazy!” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


THE CRISIS. 

T was a warm, soft June evening. 
The rosy tints of sunset were just 
merging into brown shadows over the 
landscape, the frogs peeped and gur- 
gled in the marshes, and the whippoorwills were 
beginning to answer each other from the thick 
recesses of the trees, when the old ministerial 
chaise of Dr. Cushing might have been seen 
wending its way up the stony road to the North 
Poganuc school-house. 

The Doctor and his wife were talking confi- 
dentially, and Dolly, seated between them, en- 
tered with eager sympathy into all they were 
saying. 

They were very happy, with a simple, honest, 
earnest happiness, for they hoped that the great 
object of his life and labors was now about to 
be accomplished, that the power of a Divine In- 
fluence was descending to elevate and purify 
and lift the souls of his people to God. 

“My dear, I no longer doubt,” he said. “The 
presence of the Lord is evidently with us. If 

300 




THE CRISIS, 


301 


only the church will fully awaken to their duty 
we may hope for a harvest now.” 

“ What a pity, ’ answered Mrs. Cushing-, that 
that old standing quarrel of Zeph Higgins and 
the church cannot be made up: his children are 
all deeply interested in religion, but he stands 
right in their way.” 

“ Why don’t you talk to him. Papa ?” asked 
Dolly. 

“ Nobody can speak to him but God, my 
child; there’s a man that nobody knows how 
to approach.” 

Dolly reflected silently on this for some min- 
utes, and then said. 

Papa, do you suppose Christ loves him ? 
Did he die for him ?” 

“Yes, my child. Christ loved and died for 
all.” 

“ Do you think he believes that ?” asked Dolly, 
earnestly. 

“Pm afraid he doesn’t think much about it,” 
answered her father. 

Here they came in sight of the little school- 
house. It seemed already crowded. Wagons 
were tied along the road, and people were stand- 
ing around the doors and windows. 

The Doctor and Mrs. Cushing made their way 
through the crowd to the seat behind the little 
pine table. He saw in the throng not merely 


302 


THE CRISIS. 


the ordinary attendance at prayer-meetings, but 
many of the careless and idle class who seldom 
were seen inside a church. There were tlic 
unusual faces of Abe Bowles and Liph Kingsley 
and Mark Merrill, who had left the seduc- 
tions of Glazier’s bar-room to come over and see 
whether there was really any revival at North 
Poganuc, and not perhaps without a secret in- 
ternal suggestion that to be converted would be 
the very best thing for them temporally as well 
as spiritually. Liph’s Avife, a poor, discouraged, 
forsaken-looking woman, had persuaded him to 
come over with her, and sat there praying, as 
wives of drunken men often pray, for some help 
from above to save him, and her, and her chil- 
dren. 

Nothing could be rougher and more rustic 
than the old school-house, — its walls hung with 
cobwebs; its rude slab benches and desks hacked 
by many a schoolboy’s knife; the plain, ink- 
stained pine table before the minister, with its 
two tallow candles, whose dim rays scarcely 
gave light enough to read the hymns. There 
was nothing outward to express the real great- 
ness of what was there in reality. 

There are surroundings that make us realize 
objectively the grandeur of the human soul, and 
the sublimity of the possibilities which Chris- 
tianity opens to it. The dim cathedral, whose 


THE CRISIS, 


303 


arches seem to ascend to the skies, from whose 
distant recesses pictured forms of saints and 
angels look down, whose far-reaching aisles thrill 
with chants solemn and triumphant, while clouds 
of incense arise at the holy altar, and white- 
robed priests and kneeling throngs prostrate 
themselves before the Invisible Iviajesty — all this 
“ pomp of dreadful sacrifice ” enkindles the ideas 
of the infinite and the eternal, and makes us feel 
how great, how glorious, how mysterious and 
awful is the destiny of man. 

But the New England Puritan had put the 
ocean between him and all such scenic presen- 
tations of the religious life. He had renounced 
every sensuous aid, and tasked himself to bring 
their souls to face the solemn questions of exist- 
ence and destiny in their simple nakedness, with- 
out drapery or accessories; there were times in 
the life of an earnest minister when these truths 
were made so intensely vivid and effective as 
to overbear all outward disadvantages of sur- 
rounding ; and to-night the old school-house, 
though rude and coarse as the manger of Beth- 
lehem, like that seemed hallowed by the presence 
of a God. 

From the moment the Doctor entered he was 
conscious of a present Power. There was a hush, 
a stillness, and the words of his prayer seemed to 
go out into an atmosphere thrilling with emotion* 


THE CRISIS. 


304 

and when he rose to speak he saw the counte- 
nances of his parishioners with that change upon 
them which comes from the waking up of the 
soul to higher things. Hard, weather-beaten 
faces were enkindled and eager ; every eye was 
fixed upon him ; every word he spoke seemed to 
excite a responsive emotion. 

The Doctor read from the Old Testament the 
story of Achan. He told how the host of the 
Lord had been turned back because there was 
one in the camp who had secreted in his tent an 
accursed thing. He asked, Can it be now, and 
here, among us who profess to be Christians, that 
we are secreting in our hearts some accursed 
thing that prevents the good Spirit of the Lord 
from working among us? Is it our pride? Is it 
our covetousness ? Is it our hard feeling agaiiist 
a brother? Is there anything that we know to 
be wrong that we refuse to make right — anything 
that we know belongs to God that we are withhold- 
ing? If we Christians lived as high as we ought, 
if we lived up to our professions, would there be 
any sinners unconverted ? Let us beware how we 
stand in the way. If the salt have lost its savor 
wherewith shall it be salted ? Oh, my brethren, 
let us not hinder the work of God. I look around 
on this circle and I miss the face of a sister that 
was always here to help us with her prayers; 
now she is with the general assembly and church 


THE CRISIS. 


305 


of the first-born, whose names are written in 
heaven, with the spirits of the just made perfect. 
But her soul will rejoice with the angels of God 
if she looks down and sees us all coming up to 
where we ought to be. God grant that her 
prayers may be fulfilled in us. Let us examine 
ourselves, brethren; let us cast out the stumbling- 
block, that the way of the Lord may be pre- 
pared.” 

The words, simple in themselves, became power- 
ful by the atmosphere of deep feeling into which 
they were uttered ; there were those solemn 
pauses, that breathless stillness, those repressed 
breathings, that magnetic sympathy that unites 
souls under the power of one overshadowing 
conviction. 

When the Doctor sat down suddenly there 
was a slight movement, and from a dark back 
seat rose the gaunt form of Zeph Higgins. He 
was deathly pale, and his form trembled with 
emotion. Kvery eye was fixed upon him, and 
people drew in their breath, with involuntary 
surprise and suspense. 

“ Wal, I must speak,” he said. “7;;^ a stum- 
bling-block. I’ve allers ben one. I hain’t never 
ben a Christian— that’s jest the truth on’t. I 
never hed oughter ’a’ ben in the church. I’ve 
ben all wrong— wrong ! I knew I was 
wrong, but I wouldn’t give up. It’s ben jest my 


THE CRISIS. 


306 

awful WILL. I’ve set up my will agin God Al- 
mighty. IVe set it agin my neighbors — agin the 
minister and agin the church. And now the 
Lord’s come out agin me ; he’s struck me down. 
I know he’s got a right — he can do what he 
pleases — but I ain’t resigned — not a grain. I 
submit ’cause I can’t help myself; but my heart’s 
hard and wicked. I expect my day of grace is 
over. I ain’t a Christian, and I can’t be, and I 
shall go to hell at last, and sarve me right!”- 

And Zeph sat down, grim and stony, and the 
neighbors looked one on another in a sort of con- 
sternation. There was a terrible earnestness in 
those words that seemed to appall every one and 
prevent any from uttering the ordinary common- 
places of religious exhortation. For a few mo- 
ments the eircle was silent as the grave, when Dr. 
Cushing said, Brethren, let us pray and in his 
prayer he seemed to rise above earth and draw 
his whole flock, with all their sins and needs and 
wants, into the presence-chamber of heaven. 

I-Ic prayed that the light of heaven might shine 
into the darkened spirit of their brother ; that he 
might give himself up utterly to the will of God ; 
that wc might all do it, that wc might become as 
little children in the kingdom of heaven. With 
the wise tact which distinguished his ministry he 
closed the meeting immediately after the prayer 
with one or two serious w’ords of exhortation. 


THE CRISIS. 


307 

He feared lest what had been gained in impres- 
sion might be talked away did he hold the 
meeting open to the well-meant, sincere but un- 
instructed efforts of the brethren to meet a case 
like that which had been laid open before them. 

After the service was over and the throng 
slowly dispersed, Zeph remained in his place, rigid 
and still. One or two approached to speak to 
him ; there was in fact a tide of genuine sympathy 
and brotherly feeling that longed to express itself. 
He might have been caught up in this powerful 
current and borne into a haven of peace, had he 
been one to trust himself to the help of others: 
but he looked neither to the right nor to the 
left ; his eyes were fixed on the floor ; his brown, 
bony hands held his old straw hat in a crushing 
grasp ; his whole attitude and aspect were repel- 
ling and stern to such a degree that none dared 
address him. 

The crowd slowly passed on and out. Zeph 
sat alone, as he thought; but the minister, his 
wife, and little Dolly had remained at the upper 
end of the room. Suddenly, as if sent by an 
irresistible impulse, Dolly stepped rapidly down 
the room and with eager gaze laid her pretty 
little timid hand upon his shoulder, crying, in a 
voice tremulous at once with fear and with inten- 
sity, “ O, why do you say that you can not be a 
Christian ? Don’t you know that Christ loves you ?’* 


THE CRISIS, 


308 

Christ loves you ! The words thrilled through 
his soul with a strange, new power ; he opened 
his eyes and looked astonished into the little ear- 
nest, pleading face. 

“Christ loves you,” she repeated; “oh, do be- 
lieve it!” 

“ Loves me ! ” he said, slowly. “ Why should 
he?” 

“ But he does ; he loves us all. He died for us. 
He died for you. Oh, believe it. He’ll help }■ ou ; 
he’ll make you feel right. Only trust him. Please 
say you will!” 

Zeph looked at the little face earnestly, in a 
softened, wondering way. A tear slowly stole 
down his hard cheek. 

“ Thank’e, dear child,” he said. 

“You will believe it?” 

“ I’ll try.” 

“You will trust Him?” 

Zeph paused a moment, then vose up with a 
new and different expression in h.s face, and said, 
in a subdued and earnest voice, “/ will'' 

“Amen!” said the Doctor, who stood listening; 
and he silently grasped the old man’s hand. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


THE JOY OF HARVEST. 



HEN Zeph turned from the little red 
school-house to go home, after the 
prayer-meeting, he felt that peace 
which comes after a great interior 
crisis has passed. He had; for the first time in 
his life, yielded his \viil, absolutely and thor- 
oughly. He had humbled himself, in a public 
confession of wrong-doing, before all his neigh- 
bors, before those whom he had felt to be ene- 
mies. He had taken the step convulsively, 
unwillingly, constrained thereto by a mighty 
overmastering power which wrought within 
him. He had submitted, without love, to the 
simple, stern voice of conscience and authority — 
the submission of a subject to a monarch, not 
that of a child to a father. Just then and there, 
when he felt himself crushed, lonely, humbled 
and despairing, the touch of that child’s hand on 
his, the pleading childish face, the gentle childish 
voice, had spoken to him of the love of Christ. 

There are hard, sinful, unlovely souls, who yet 
long to be loved, who sigh in their dark prison 
^ 309 



310 


THE JOY OF HARVEST 


for that tenderness, that devotion, of which they 
are consciously unworthy. Love might redeem 
them ; but who can love them ? There is a fable 
of a prince doomed by a cruel enchanter to wear 
a loathsome, bestial form till some fair woman 
should redeem him by the transforming kiss of 
love. The fable is a parable of the experience 
of many a lost human soul. 

The religion of Christ owes its peculiar power 
to its revealing a Divine Lover, the one Only 
Fair, the altogether Beautiful, who can love the 
unlovely back into perfectness. The love of 
Christ has been the dissolving power that has 
broken the spells and enchantments which held 
human souls in bondage and has given them 
power to rise to the beauty and freedom of the 
sons of God. 

As Zeph walked homeward through the lonely 
stillness of the night, again and again the words 
thrilled through his soul, “ Christ loves you '" — and 
such tears as he had never wept before stood 
in his eyes, as he said wonderingly, ‘‘ Me — me ? 
Oh, is it possible? Can it be?” And Christ died 
for him! He had known it all these years, 
and never thanked him, never loved him. The 
rush of new emotion overpowered him; he en- 
tered his house, v/alked straight to the great 
family Bible that lay on a stand in the best room 
of the house ^ it was the very room where the 


THE JOY OF HARVEST 


311 

coffin of his wife had stood, where he had sat, 
stony and despairing, during the funeral ex- 
ercises. Zeph opened the Bible at random and 
began turning the leaves, and his eye fell on 
the words, “ Unto Him that loved US and washed 
us from our sins in his own blood and hath made 
us to our God kings and priests, to him be 
glory !” His heart responded with a strange 
new joy — a thrill of hope that he, too, might 
be washed from his sins. 

Who can read the awful mysteries of a single 
soul? We see human beings, hard, harsh, earth- 
ly, and apparently without an aspiration for any 
thing high and holy; but let us never say that 
there is not far down in the depths of any soul 
a smothered aspiration, a dumb repressed desire 
to be something higher and purer, to attain the 
perfectness to which God calls it. 

Zeph felt at this moment that Christ who so 
loved him could purify him, could take away 
his pride and willfulness ; and he fell on his knees, 
praying without words, but in the spirit of him 
of old who cried, “ If thou wilt, thou canst make 
me clean.” As he prayed a great peace fell upon 
him, a rest and stillness of soul such as he had 
never felt before; he lay down that night and 
slept the sleep of a little child. 

But when next day Zeph Higgins walked into 
Deacon Dickenson’s store and of his own accord 


312 


THE JOY OF HARVEST. 


offered to put back the water-pipes that led to 
his spring, and to pay whatever cost and damage 
the Deacon might have incurred in throwing 
them out, there was then no manner of doubt 
that some higher power than that of man had 
been at work in his soul. 

The Deacon himself was confounded, almost 
appalled, by the change that had come over his 
neighbor. He had been saying all his life that 
the grace of God could do anything and convert 
anybody, but he never expected to see a conver- 
sion like that. Instead of grasping eagerly at the 
offered reparation he felt a strange emotion within 
himself, a sort of choking in his throat ; and now 
that he saw the brother with whom he had con- 
tended yielding so unconditionally, he began to 
question himself whether he had no wrong to 
confess on his side. 

‘‘Wal now, I expect I’ve ben wrong too,” he 
said. We ain’t perfectly sanctified, none on us, 
and I know I hain’t done quite right, and I hain’t 
felt right. I got my back up, and I’ve said things 
I hadn’t orter. Wal, we’ll shake hands on’t. I 
ain’t perticklar ’bout them water-pipes now ; we’ll 
let bygones be bygones.” 

But Zeph had set his heart on reparation, and 
here was a place where the pertinacity of his 
nature had an honest mission ; so by help of ref- 
erence to one or two neighbors as umpires the 


THE JOY OF HAR VEST, 


313 


whole loss was finally made good and the long- 
standing controversy with all its ill-feeling settled 
and buried forever out of sight. 

The news of this wonderful change spread 
through all the town. 

“ I declar’ for ’t,” said Liph Kingsley to Bill 
Larkins, this ere’s a reel thing, and it's time 
for me to be a-thinkin'. I’ve got a soul to be 
saved too, and I mean to quit drinkin’ and seek 
the Lord.” 

'‘Poh!” said Bill, ‘‘you may say so and think 
so; but you won’t do it. You’ll never hold out.” 

“ Don’t you believe that ; Christ will help you,” 
said Zeph Higgins, who had overheard the con- 
versation. “ He has helped me ; he can help you. 
He can save to the uttermost. There ’tis in the 
Bible — try it. We’ll all stand by ye.” 

A voice like this from old Zeph Higgins im- 
pressed the neighbors as being almost as much 
of a miracle as if one of the gray cliffs of old 
Bluff Head had spoken; but his heart was full, 
and he was ready everywhere to testify to the 
love that had redeemed him. No exhorter in the 
weekly prayer-meeting spoke words of such 
power as he. 

The few weeks that followed were marked in 
the history of the town. Everywhere the meet- 
ings for preaching and prayer were crowded. 
Glazier’s bar-room was shut up for want of 


314 


THE JOY OF HARVEST. 


custom, and Glazier himself renounced the sell- 
ing of liquor and became one of the converts 
of the revival. For a while every member of 
the church in the village acted as if the won- 
derful things which they all professed to believe 
were really true — as if there were an immor- 
tality of glory to be gained or lost by our life 
here. 

The distinction between the aristocracy of 
Town Hill and the outlying democracy of the 
farming people was merged for the time in a 
sense of a higher and holier union. Colonel 
Davenport and Judge Gridley were seen with 
Doctor Cushing in the school-houses of the out- 
lying districts, exhorting and praying, and the 
farmers from the distant hills crowded in to the 
Town Hill meetings. For some weeks the multi- 
tude was of one heart and one soul. A loftier 
and mightier influence overshadowed them, un- 
der whose power all meaner differences sunk 
out of sight. Such seasons as these are like 
warm showers that open leaf and flower, buds 
that have been long forming. Everybody in 
those days that attended Christian services had 
more or less of good purposes, of indefinite 
aspiration to be better, of intentions that related 
to some future. The revival brought these out 
in the form of an immediate practical purpose, 
a definite, actual beginning in a new life. 


THE yOY OF HA EYE ST. 


315 

“Well, Mother,” said Hiel Jones, “I’ve made 
up my mind to be a Christian. I’ve counted 
the cost, and it will cost something, too. I was 
a-goin’ up to Vermont to trade for a team o’ 
bosses, and I can’t make the trade I should ’a’ 
made. If I jine the church I mean to live up to ’t, 
and I can’t make them sharp trades fellers do. 
I could beat ’em all out o’ their boots,” said 
Hiel, with rather a regretful twinkle in his eye, 
“but I won’t; I’ll do the right thing, ef I don’t 
make so much by ’t. Nabby and me’s both 
agreed ’bout that. We shall jine the church 
together, and be married as soon as I get back 
from Vermont. I allers meant to git religion 
sometime— but somehow, lately. I’ve felt that 
now is the time.” 

On one bright autumnal Sabbath of that season 
the broad aisle of the old meeting-house was 
filled with candidates . solemnly confessing their 
faith and purpose to lead the Christian life. 
There, standing side by side, were all ages, from 
the child to the gray-haired man. There stood 
Dolly with her two brothers, her heart thrilling 
with the sense of the holy rite in which she was 
joining; there Nabby and Hiel side by side; 
there all the sons of Zeph Higgins; and there, 
lastly, the gray, worn form of old Zeph himself. 
Although enrolled as a church member he had 
asked to stand up and take anew those vows of 


3i6 the joy of harvest. 

which he had never before understood the mean- 
ing or felt the spirit, and thus reunite himself 
with the church from which he had separated. 

That day was a recompense to Dr. Cushing 
for many anxieties and sorrows. He now saw 
fully that though the old regime of New England 
had forever passed, yet there was still in the 
hands of her ministry that mighty power which 
Paul was not ashamed to carry to Rome as ade- 
quate to regenerate a world. He saw that in- 
temperance and profanity and immorality could 
be subdued by the power of religious motive 
working in the hearts of individual men, taking 
away the desire to do evil, and that the Gospel 
of Christ is to-day, as it was of old and ever will 
be, the power of God and the wisdom of God 
to the salvation of every one that believeth. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


SIX YEARS LATER. 

X years step softly, with invisible foot- 
steps, over the plain of life, bearing us 
on with an insensible progress. Six 
years of winter snows and spring thaws, 
of early blue-birds and pink May-flower buds 
under leafy banks, of anemone, crowfoot and 
violet in the fields, of apple-blossoms in the or- 
chards, and new green leaves in the forest; six 
years of dark-green summers in the rustling 
woods, of fire-lilies in the meadow-lots and scar- 
let lobelias by the water-brooks, of roses and 
lilies and tall phloxes in the gardens; six years 
of autumnal golden rod and aster, of dropping nuts 
and rainbow-tinted forests, of ripened grain and 
gathered corn, of harvest home and thanksgiv- 
ing proclamation and gathering of families about 
the home table to consider the loving-kindness 
of the Lord : — by such easy stages, such comings 
and goings, is our mortal pilgrimage marked off. 
When the golden rod and aster have bloomed 
for us sixty or seventy seasons, then we are near 




SIX YEARS LATER. 


318 

the banks of the final river, we are coming to the 
time of leaving the flowers of earth for the flow- 
ers of Paradise. 

The six years in Poganuc had brought their 
changes, not in external nature, for that remained 
quiet and beautiful as ever ; the same wooded hills, 
with their sylvan shades and hidden treasures 
of fruits and flowers, the same brown, sparkling 
river, where pickerel and perch darted to and 
fro, and trout lurked in cool, shadowy hollows: 
but the old graveyard bore an added stone or 
two; mounds wet with bitter tears had grown 
green and flowery, and peaceable fruits of right- 
eousness had sprung up from harvests sown 
there in weeping. 

As to the Parsonage and its inmates, six years 
had added a little sprinkle of silver to the Doc- 
tor’s head, and a little new learning of the loving- 
kindness of the Lord to his heart. The fruits of 
the revival gathered into his church were as sat- 
isfactory as ordinary human weakness allows. 
The Doctor was even more firmly seated in the 
respect and affection of his parish than in old 
days, when the ministry was encompassed by the 
dignities and protections of law. Poganuc was 
a town where an almshouse was almost a super- 
fluous institution, and almsgiving made difficult 
by the fact that there were no poor people ; for 
since the shutting of Glazier’s bar-room, and the 


SIX YEARS LATER. 


319 


reformation of a few noted drunkards, there was 
scarce anybody not in the way of earning a 
decent and comfortable living. j^Such were our 
New England villages in the days when its 
people were of our own blood and race, and the 
pauper population of Europe had not as yet been 
landed upon our shores. | 

As to the characters of our little story, they, 
also, had moved on a stage in the journey of life. 

Hiel Jones had become a thriving man; had 
bought a share in the stage-line that ran through 
the town, and owned the finest team of horses in 
the region. He and our friend Nabby were an 
edifying matrimonial firm, comfortably established 
at housekeeping in a trim, well-kept dwelling not 
far from the Parsonage, with lilac bushes over 
the front windows, and red peonies and yellow 
lilies in the door-yard. 

A sturdy youngster of three years, who toddled 
about, upsetting matters generally, formed a large 
part of the end and aim of Nabby ’s existence. 
To say the truth, this young, bright-eyed, curly- 
pated slip of humanity v/as enough to furnish 
work for a dozen women, for he did mischief with 
a rapidity, ingenuity and energy that was per- 
fectly astonishing. What small efforts the parents 
made in the direction of family government were 
utterly frustrated by the fond and idolatrous de- 
votion of old Zeph, who evidently considered it 


320 


SIX YEARS LATER. 


the special privilege of a grandfather to spoil 
the rising generation. 

Scarce a day passed that Zeph was not at the 
house, his pockets stuffed with apples, cakes or 
nuts for the boy. The old man bowed his grey 
head to the yoke of youth ; he meekly did the 
infant’s will ; he was the boy’s horse and cantered 
for him, he was a cock and crowed for him, he 
was a hen and cackled for him; he sacrificed 
dignity and consistency at those baby feet as the 
wise men of old laid down their gold, frankin- 
cense and myrrh. 

Zeph had ripened like a winter apple. The 
hard, snarly astringency of his character had 
grown sweet and mild. His was a nature capa- 
ble of a great and lasting change. When he 
surrendered his will to his God he surrendered 
once for all, and so the peace of God fell upon 
him and kept him. He was a consistent and 
most useful member of the church, and began to 
be known in the neighborhood by the semi- 
affectionate title of “ Uncle Zeph,” a sort of 
brevet rank which indicated a certain general 
confidence in his disposition to neighborly good 
offices. 

The darling wish of his wife’s heart had been 
accomplished in his eldest son Abner. He had 
sent him through college, sparing no labor and 
no hardship in himself to give the youth every 


SIX YEARS LATER, 


321 

advantage. And Abner had proved an able 
scholar; his college career had been even brill- 
iant, and he had now returned to his native 
place to pursue his theological studies under Dr. 
Cushing. 

It will be well remembered that in the former 
days of New England there were no specific 
theological institutions, but the young candidate 
for the ministry took his studies under the care 
of some pastor, who directed his preparatory 
course and initiated him into his labors, and this 
course of things once established was often con- 
tinued from choice even after institutions of 
learning were founded. 

The Doctor had an almost paternal pride in 
this offshoot that had grown up in his parish ; he 
taught him with enthusiasm ; he took him in his 
old chaise to the associations and ministerial 
meetings about the State, and gave him every 
opportunity to exercise his gifts in speaking. 

It was a proud Sunday for old Zeph when his 
boy preached his first sermon in the Doctor’s 
pulpit. The audience in the Poganuc meeting- 
house, as we have indicated, was no mean one in 
point of education, ability and culture, but every 
one saw and commended the dignity and self- 
possession ynth which the young candidate filled 
the situation, and there was a universal approval 
of his discourse from even the most critical of 


322 


SIX YEARS LATER, 


his audience. But the face and figure of old 
Zeph as he leaned forward in his seat, following 
with breathless eagerness every word; his blue 
eyes kindling, the hard lines of his face relaxing 
into an expression of absorbed and breathless in- 
terest, would have made a study for a painter. 
Every point in the argument, the flash of every 
illustration, the response to every emotion, could 
have been read in his face as in an open book; 
and when after service the young candidate 
received the commendations of Colonel Daven- 
port, Judge Belcher and Judge Gridley, Zeph’s 
cup of happiness was full. Abner was an excep- 
tion to the saying that a prophet hath no honor 
in his own country, for both classes in society 
vied with each other to do him honor. The 
farming population liked him for being one of 
themselves, the expression of what they felt 
themselves capable of being and becoming under 
similar advantages ; while the more cultivated 
class really appreciated the talent and energy of 
the young man, and were the better pleased with 
it as having arisen in their own town. 

So his course was all fair, until, as Fate would 
have it, he asked one thing too much of her — 
and thereof came a heart-ache. 

Our little friend Dolly had shot up into a 
blooming and beautiful maiden — warm-hearted, 
enthusiastic, and whole-souled as we have seen 


SIX YEARS LATER. 


323 

her in her childhood. She was in everything 
the sympathetic response that parents love to 
find in a child. She entered with her whole 
soul into all her father’s feelings and plans, and 
had felt and expressed such an honest, frank, 
and hearty friendliness to the young man, such 
an interest in his success, that the poor youth 
was beguiled into asking more than Dolly could 
give. 

Modern young ladies, who count and cata- 
logue their victims, would doubtless be amused 
to have seen Dolly’s dismay at her unexpected 
and undesired conquest. The recoil was so 
positive and decided as to be beyond question, 
but Dolly’s conscience was sorely distressed. 
She had meant nothing but the ordinary loving- 
kindness of a good and generous heart. She 
had wanted to make him happy, and had ended 
in making him apparently quite miserable; and 
Dolly was sincerely afflicted about it. What 
had she done ? Had she done wrong ? She 
never thought— never dreamed — of such a thing. 

The fact was that Dolly had those large, 
earnest, persuasive eyes that are very danger- 
ous, and sometimes seem to say more than they 
mean; and she had quick, sudden smiles, and 
twinkling dimples, and artless, honest ways, and 
so much general good-will and kindliness, that 
one might pardonably be deceived by her. 


324 


SIX YEARS LATER, 


It is said that there are lakes whose Avaters 
are so perfectly transparent that they deceive 
the eye as to their depth. Dolly was like these 
crystal waters; with all her impulsive frankness 
there was a deep world within — penetralia that 
had been yet uninvaded — and there she kept 
her ideals. The man she might love Avas one of 
the immortals, not in the least like a blushing 
young theological student in a black coat, with 
a hymn-book under his arm. Precisely what 
he was she had never been near enough to see ; 
but she knew in a minute what he was not. 
Therefore she had said “No” with a resolute en- 
ergy that admitted of no hope, and yet with a 
distress and self-reproach that Avas quite genuine. 

This was Dolly’s first real trouble. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A DISCOVERY. 



SHY, wife,’’ said the Doctor, pushing 
up his spectacles on his forehead and 
looking up from his completed ser- 
mon, ‘‘our little Dolly is really a 
grown-up young lady.” 

“Well, of course, what should she be?” re- 
joined Mrs. Cushing, with the decisive air which 
becomes the feminine partner on strictly feminine 
ground; “she’s taller than I am, and she’s a 
handsome girl, too.” 

“ I don’t think,” said the Doctor, assuming a 
confidential tone, “that there’s a girl in our 
meeting-house to be compared with her — there 
really is not.” 

“There is no great fault to be found with 
Dolly’s looks,” said Mrs. Cushing as she turned 
a stocking she had been darning. “ Dolly always 
was pretty.” 

“Well, what do you think Higgins has been 
saying to me about her?” continued the Doctor. 

“Some nonsense I suppose,” said Mrs. Cush- 

325 



THE DOCTOR MAKES A DISCOVERY. 


326 

ing, “ something he might as well have left un- 
said, for all the good it will do.” 

“Now, my dear, Higgins is going to make 
one of the leading ministers of the State. He 
has a bright, strong, clear mind; he is a thor- 
ough scholar and a fine speaker, and I have had 
a letter from the church in Northboro’ about 
settling him there.” 

“All very well. Fm sure Fm glad of it, with 
all my heart,” said Mrs. Cushing ; “ but il he has 
any thoughts of our Dolly the sooner he gets 
them out of his head the better for him. Dolly 
has felt very kindly to him, as she does to every- 
body; she has been interested in him simply 
and only as a friend ; but any suggestion of par- 
ticular interest on his part would exceedingly 
annoy her. You had better speak very decidedly 
to him to this effect. You can say that I under- 
stand my daughter’s mind, and that it will be 
very painful to her to have anything more said 
on the subject.” 

“Well, really, Fm sorry for Higgins,” said 
the Doctor, “ he’s such a good-hearted worthy 
fellow, and I believe he’s very deep in love.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Mrs. Cushing decidedly ; “ but 
our Dolly can’t marry every good-hearted worthy 
fellow that comes in her way, if he is in love ; 
and Fm sure Fm in no hurry to give her away, — 
she is the light and music of the house.” 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A DISCOVERY. 


327 

“ So she is,” said the Doctor ; I couldn’t do 
without her; but I pity poor Higgins.” 

Oh, you may spare your pity ; he won’t 
break his heart. Never fear. Men never die of 
that. There’ll be girls enough in his parish, 
and he’ll be married six months after he gets 
a place — ministers always are.” 

The Doctor made some few corrections in the 
end of his sermon without contradicting this un- 
ceremonious statement of his wife’s. 

‘^But,” continued Mrs. Cushing, “the thing is 
a trial to Dolly; I think it would be quite as 
well if she should n’t see any more of him for 
the present, and I have just got a letter from 
Deborah urging me to let her go to Boston for 
a visif. Mother says she is getting old, now, 
and that she shall never see Dolly unless the 
child comes to her. Here^s the letter.” 

The Doctor took it, and we, looking over his 
shoulder, see the large, sharp, decided style of 
writing characteristic of Miss Debby Kittery: 

“Dear Sister: 

“ Mother wants you to let us have Dolly to make a 
good, long visit. Mother is getting old now, and says 
she hasn’t seen Dolly since she has grown up, and 
thinks we old folks will be the better for a little young 
life about us. You remember Cousin Jane Davies, 
that married John Dunbar and \Vent over to England.? 
Well, brother Israel Kittery has taken a fancy to her 
youngest son during his late visit to England, and is 


328 the doctor makes a discovery. 

going to bring him to Boston and turn over his busi- 
ness to him and make him his heir. We are expect- 
ing them now by every ship, and have invited them 
to spend the Christmas Holidays with us. I under- 
stand this young Alfred Dunbar is a bright, quick- 
witted young slip, just graduated from Oxford, and 
one that finds favor in all eyes. He will help make 
it lively for Dolly, and if anything should come of it 
why it will be all the better. So if you will have Dolly 
ready to leave I will be up to visit you in December 
and bring her home with me. Mother sends a great 
deal of love, — her rheumatism has gone to her right 
arm now, which is about all the variety she is treated 
to; but she is always serene, as usual, and sends no 
end of loving messages. 

“ Your affectionate sister, 

“ Debby. 

“ P. S. — Don’t worry about Dolly’s dress. My pink 
brocade will cut over for her, and it is nearly as good 
as new. I’ll bring it when I come.” 

On reading this letter the Doctor fell into a 
deep muse. 

“Well, what do you think?” asked his wife. 

“What? Who? I?” said the Doctor, with 
difficulty collecting himself from his reverie. 

“Yes, answered his wife incisively, with 

just the kind of a tone to wake one out of a nap. 

The fact was that the good Doctor had a little 
habit of departing unceremoniously into some 
celestial region of thought in the midst of con- 
versation, and the notion of Dolly’s going to 
Boston had aroused quite a train of ideas con- 


THE DOCTOR MAKES A D/SCO VERY. 


329 

nected with certain doctrinal discussions now 
going on there in relation to the Socinian con- 
troversy, so that his wife’s voice came to him 
from afar off, as one hears in a dream. 

^ To Mrs. Cushing, whose specific work lay here, 
and now, in the matters of this present world, this 
little peculiarity of her husband was at times a 
trifle annoying; so she added, “ I do wish you 
would attend to what we were talking about. 
Don’t you think it would be just the best thing in 
the world for Dolly to make this visit to Boston?” 

‘‘ Oh, certainly I do — by all means,” he said 
eag-erly, with the air of a man just waked up 
who wants to show he hasn’t been asleep. ‘‘Yes, 
Dolly had better go.” 

The Doctor mused for another moment, and 
then added, in a sort of soliloquy : “ Boston is 
a city of sacred associations; it is consecrated 
ground ; the graves of our fathers, of the saints 
and the martyrs are there. I shall like little 
Dolly to visit them.” 

This was not precisely the point of view in 
which the visit was contemplated in the mind of 
his wife; but the enthusiasm was a sincere one. 
Boston, to all New England, was the Jerusalem— 
the city of sacred and religious memories; they 
took pleasure in her stones, and favored the dust" 
thereof. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


HIEL AND NABBY. 



NLY think, Kiel, Dolly’s going to 
Boston,” said Nabby, when they had 
seated themselves cosily with the in- 
fant Zeph between them at the 
supper-table. 

“Ye don’t say so, now!” said Hiel, with the 
proper expression of surprise. 

“Yes, Miss Kittery, her Boston aunt, ’s cornin’ 
next week, and I’m goin’ in to do up her muslins 
for her. Yes, Dolly’s goin’ to Boston.” 

“ Good !” said Hiel. “ I hope she’ll get a hus- 
band there.” 

“ That’s jest all you men think of,” answered 
Nabby. “ Dolly ain’t one o’ that kind ; she ain’t 
lookin’ out for fellers — though there’s plenty 
would be glad to have her. She ain’t one o’ 
that sort.” 

“ Wal,” said Hiel, “she’s too good-lookin’ to 
be let alone; she’ll hev to hev somebody.” 

“ Oh, there’s enough after her,” said Nabby. 
“ There was that Virginny fellow in Judge 
Belcher’s office, waitin’ on her home from meet- 

330 


HIEL AND NABBY. 


'331 

in’ and wanting to be her beau; she wouldn’t 
have nothin to say to him. Then there was that 
academy teacher used to walk home with her, 
and carry her books and go with her to singin’ 
school , but Dolly didn t want him. And there’s 
Abner— he jest worships the ground she treads 
on ; and she’s jest good friends with him. She’s 
good friends with ’em all round, but come to 
case in hand she don’t want any on ’em.” 

“ Wal, there ain’t nothin’ but the doctrine o’ 
’lection for such gals,” said Kiel. When the 
one they’s decreed to marry comes along then 
their time comes, jest as yours and mine did, 
Nabby.” 

The conversation was here interrupted by the 
infant Zeph, who had improved the absorbed 
state of his parents’ minds to carry out a plan he 
had been soAe time meditating, of upsetting the 
molasses pitcher. This was done with such 
celerity that before they could make a move both 
his fat hands were triumphantly spatted into the 
brown river, and he gave a crow of victory. 

There ! clean table-cloth this very night ! Did 
I ever see such a young un !” cried Nabby, as 
she caught him away from the table. “ Father 
thinks he’s perfection. I should like to have him 
have the care of him once,” she added, bustling 
and brightening and laughing as she scolded; 
while Kiel, making perfectly sincere but ill- 


332 


HIEL AND NABBY. 


directed efforts to scrape up the molasses with 
a spoon, succeeded only in distributing it pretty 
equally over the table-cloth. 

“ Well, now, if there ain’t a pair of you!” said 
Nabby, when she returned to the table. “ If that 
ain’t jest like a man 1” 

“ Wal, what would ye hev me — like a girl, or a 
dog, or what?” asked Hiel, as he stood, with his 
hands in his pockets, surveying the scene. ‘‘ I 
did my best ; but I ain’t used to managing mo- 
lasses and babies together; that’s a fact.” 

It’s lucky Mother went out to tea,” said 
Nabby, as she whisked off the tablecloth, wiped 
the table, re-clothed it with a clean one, and 
laid the supper dishes back in a twinkling. “ Now, 
Hiel, we’ll try again ; and be sure and put things 
where he can’t get ’em ; he does beat all for mis- 
chief!” ** 

And the infant phenomenon, who had had his 
face washed and his apron changed in the inte- 
rim, looked up confidingly in the face of each 
parent and crowed out a confident laugh. 

“ Don’t let’s tell Mother,” said Nabby ; “ she’s 
always sayin’ we don’t govern him; and I’m sure 
she spoils him more than we do ; but if she’d 
been here she wouldn’t get over it for a week.” 

In fact, the presence of Mother Jones in the 
family was the only drawback on Nabby ’s domes- 
tic felicity, that good lady’s virtues, as we have 


HIEL AND NAB BY. 


333 


seen, being much on the plaintive and elegiac 
order. There is indeed a class of elderly relatives 
who, their work in life being now over, have 
nothing to do but sit and pass criticisms on the 
manner in which younger pilgrims are bearing 
the heat and burden of the day. 

Although Nabby was confessedly one of the 
most capable and energetic of housekeepers, 
though everything in her domestic domains 
fairly shone and glittered with neatness, though 
her cake always rose even, though her bread 
was the whitest, her biscuits the lightest, and 
her doughnuts absolute perfection, yet Mother 
Jones generally sat mildly swaying in her 
rocking-chair and declaring herself consumed 
by care — and averring that she had everything 
on her mind.” “ I don’t do much, but I feel 
the care of everything,” the old lady would re- 
mark in a quavering voice. ‘‘Young folks is so 
thoughtless; they don’t feel care as I do.” 

At first Nabby was a little provoked at this 
state of things ; but Hiel only laughed it off. 

“ Oh, let her talk. Mother likes to feel care ; 
she wants something to worry about; she’d be 
as forlorn as a hen without a nest-egg if she 
hadn’t that. Don’t you trouble your head, 
Nabby, so long as I don’t.” 

For all that, Nabby congratulated herself that 
Mother Jones was not at the tea-table, for the 


334 


HIEL AND NABBY, 


nurture and admonition of young Zeph was 
one of her most fruitful and weighty sources 
of care. She was always declaring that ‘^chil- 
dren was sech an awful responsibility, that she 
wondered that folks dared to git married !’* She 
laid down precepts, strict even to ferocity, as 
to the early necessity of prompt, energetic 
government, and of breaking children’s wills ; 
and then gave master Zeph everything he cried 
for, and indulged all his whims with the most 
abject and prostrate submission. 

“ I know I hadn’t orter,” she would say, when 
confronted with this patent inconsistency ; “ but 
then I ain’t his mother. I ain’t got the respon- 
sibility ; and the fact is he will have things and 
I hev to let him. His parents orter break his 
will, but they don’t; it’s a great care to me;” 
and Mother Jones would end by giving him the 
sugar-bowl to play with, and except for the im- 
mutable laws of nature she would doubtless 
have given him the moon or any part of the 
solar system that he had cried for. 

Nevertheless, let it not be surmised that Mother 
Jones, notwithstanding the minor key in which 
she habitually indulged, was in the least unhap p)^ 
There are natures to whom the “ unleavened bread 
and bitter herbs” of life are an agreeable and 
strengthening diet, and Mother Jones took real 
pleasure in everything that went to show that 


HIEL AND NAB BY. 


335 


this earth was a vale of tears. A funeral was 
a most enlivening topic for her, and she never 
allowed an opportunity to pass within riding dis- 
tance without giving it her presence, and dwell- 
ing on all the details of the state of the corpse” 
and the minutiae of the laying-out for weeks 
after, so that her presence at table between her 
blooming son and daughter answered all the 
moral purposes of the skeleton which the ancient 
Egyptians kept at their feasts. Mother Jones 
also, in a literal sense, ^-enjoyed poor health” and 
petted her coughs and her rheumatisms, and was 
particularly discomposed with any attempt to 
show her that she was getting better. Yet when 
strictly questioned the good lady always ad- 
mitted, though with a mournful shake of the 
head, that she had everything to be thankful 
for — that Hiel was a good son, and Nabby was 
a good daughter, and ‘ since Hiel had jined the 
church and hed prayers in his family, she hoped 
he’d hold on to the end — though it really worried 
her to see how light and triflin’ he was.’ 

In fact Hiel, though maintaining on the whole 
a fairly consistent walk and profession, was un- 
doubtedly a very gleesome church member, and 
about as near Mother Jones’s idea of a saint as 
a bobolink on a clover-top. There was a worldly 
twinkle in his eye, and the lines of his cheery 
face grew rather broad than long, and his moth* 


HIEL AND NABBY. 


336 

er’s most lugubrious suggestions would often set 
him off in a story that would upset even the old 
lady’s gravity and bring upon her pangs of re- 
pentance. For the spiritual danger and besettiag 
sin that Mother Jones more especially guarded 
against was an ‘‘undue levity;” but when she 
remembered that Dr. Cushing himself and all 
the neighboring clergymen, on an occasion of a 
“ministers’ meeting” when she had been helping 
in the family, had vied with each other in telling 
good stories, and shaken their sides with roars 
of heartiest laughter, she was somewhat consoled 
about Kiel. She confessed it was a mystery to 
her, however, ‘ how folks could hev the heart 
to be a-laughin’ and tellin’ stories in sich a dying 
world.’ 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

MISS DEBBY ARRIVES. 



|0 Dr. Cushing’s, Ma’am ?” 

This question met the ear of Miss 
Debby Kittery just after she had de- 
posited her umbrella, with a smart, 
decisive thump, by her side, and settled herself 
and her bandbox on the back seat of the creak- 
ing, tetering old stage on the way to Poganuc. 

Miss Debby opened her eyes, surveyed the 
questioner with a well-bred stare, and answered, 
with a definite air, ‘‘ Yes, sir.” 

“ Oh, yis ; thought so,” said Hiel Jones. “ Miss 
Kittery, I s’pose ; the Doctor’s folks is expecting 
ye. Folks all well in Boston, I s’pose?” 

Miss Debby in her heart thought Hiel Jones 
very presuming and familiar, and endeavored to 
convey by her behavior and manner that such 
was her opinion ; but the effort was quite a vain 
one, for the remotest conception of any such 
possibility in his case was so far from Hiel’s mind 
that there was not there even the material to 
make it of. The look of dignified astonishment 
with which the good lady responded to his ques- 

337 


MISS DEBBY ARRIVES, 


338 

tion as to the folks in Boston ” was wholly lost 
on him. 

The first sentence in the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence, that all men are created equal,” had 
so far become incarnate in Hiel that he never yet 
had seen the human being whom he did not feel 
competent to address on equal terms, and, when 
exalted to his high seat on the stage-box, could 
not look down upon with a species of patronage. 
Even the haute noblesse of Poganuc allowed Hiel’s 
familiarities and laughed at his jokes ; he was one 
of their institutions ; and what was tolerance and 
acceptance on the part of the aristocracy became 
adulation on the part of those nearer his own 
rank of life. And so when Miss Debby Kittery 
made him short answers and turned away her 
head, Hiel merely commented to himself, “Don’t 
seem sociable. Poor old lady! Tired, I s’pose; 
roads is pretty rough,” and, gathering up his 
reins, dashed off cheerfully. 

At the first stage where he stopped to change 
horses he deemed it his duty to cheer the loneli- 
ness of the old lady by a little more conversation, 
and so, after offering to bring her a tumbler of 
water, he resumed : 

“Ye hain’t ben to Poganuc very often; — hain’t 
seen Dolly since she’s grow’d up?” 

“Are you speaking of Miss Cushing, sir?” 
asked Miss Debby, in tones of pointed rebuke. 


MISS DEBBY ARRIVES. 


339 


Yis — wal, we allers call her ^ Dolly’ t’ our 
house,” said Kiel. “ We’ve know’d her sence 
she was that high. My wife used to live to the 
Doctor’s — she thinks all the world of Dolly.” 

Miss Debby thought of the verse in the Church 
Catechism in which the catechumen defines it as 
his duty to ‘ order himself lowly and reverently 
to all his betters.’ Evidently Hiel had never 
heard of this precept. Perhaps if he had, the 
inquiry as to who are betters, as presented to a 
shrewd and thoughtful mind, might lead to em- 
barrassing results. 

So, as he seemed an utterly hopeless case, and 
as after all he appeared so bright, and anxious to 
oblige. Miss Debby surrendered at discretion, 
and during the last half of the way found herself 
laughing heartily at some of Hiel’s stories and 
feeling some interest in the general summary of 
Poganuc news which he threw in gratis. 

‘‘ Yis, the Doctor’s folks is all well. Doctor’s 
had lots o’ things sent in this year. Thanks- 
giving time — turkeys and chickens and eggs 
and lard — every kind o’ thing you can think of. 
Everybody sent— Town Hill folks, and folks out 
seven miles round. Everybody likes the Doctor ; 
they’d orter, too ! There ain’t sech a minister 
nowhere. The way he explains the doctrines 
and sets ’em home— I tell ye, there ain’t no mis- 
take about him; he’s a hull team, now, and our 


340 


MISS DEBBY ARRIVES. 


folks knows it. Orter ’a’ ben here a week ago, 
when the Doctor had his wood-spell. Tell ye, if 
the sleds didn’t come in ! Why, his back-yard’s a 
perfect mountain o’ wood — best sort too, good 
oak and hickory, makes good solid coals — enough 
to keep him a year round. Wal, folks orter 
do it. He’s faithful to them, they’d orter do 
wal by him.” 

“ Isn’t there an Episcopal church in your 
town?” asked Miss Debby.” 

“ Oh, yis, there is a little church. Squire 
Lewis he started it ’bout six years ago, and 
there was consid’able many signed off to it. 
But our Poganuc folks somehow ain’t made for 
’Piscopals. A ’Piscopal church in our town is 
jest like a hill o’ potatoes planted under a big 
apple-tree ; the tree got a-growin’ afore they did, 
and don’t give ’em no chance. There was my 
wife’s father, he signed off, ’cause of a quarrel 
he hed with his own church ; but he’s come back 
agin, and so have all his boys, and Nabby, and 
jined the Doctor’s church. Fact is, our folks 
sort o’ hanker arter the old meetin’-house.” 

Who is the rector of the Episcopal church?” 

*‘0h, that’s Sim Coan; nice, lively young feller, 
Sim is; but can’t hold a candle to the Doctor. 
Sim he ain’t ’fraid of nobody — preaches up the 
’Piscopal doctrine sharp, and stands up for his 
side; and he’s all the feasts and fasts and an- 


MISS DEBBY AERIVES. 


341 


thems and things at his tongue’s end; and his 
folks likes him fust rate. But the church don’t 
grow much ; jest holds its own, that’s all.” 

These varied items of intelligence, temporal 
and spiritual, were poured into Miss Debby’s 
ear at sundry periods when horses were to be 
changed, or in the interval of waiting for dinner 
at the sleepy old country tavern; and by the 
time she reached Poganuc she had conceived 
quite a friendly feeling towards Hiel and un- 
bent her frigid demeanor to that degree that 
Hiel told Nabby the old lady reely got quite 
sociable and warmed up afore she got there.” 

Dolly was somewhat puzzled and almost 
alarmed on her first introduction to her aunt, 
who took possession of her in a summary man- 
ner, turning her round and surveying her, and 
giving her opinion of her with a distinct and 
decisive air, as if the damsel had been an 
article of purchase sent home to be looked over. 

“ So this is my niece Dolly, is it ?” she said. 
“Well, come kiss your old aunty: upon my 
word, you are taller than your mother.” Then 
holding her at arm’s length and surveying her, 
with her head on one side, she added, “There’s 
a good deal of Pierrepont blood in her, sister; 
that is the Pierrepont nose— I should know it 
anywhere. Her way of carrying herself is 
Pierrepont. Blushing!” she added, as Dolly 


342 


MISS DEBB Y ARRIVES. 


grew crimson under this survey ; “that’s a family 
trick. I remember when I went to dancing 
school the first time, my face was crimson as 
my sash. She’ll get the better of that as she 
gets older, as I have. Sit down by your aunty, 
child. I think I shall like you. That’s right, 
sit up straight and hold your shoulders back — 
the girls of this generation are getting round- 
shouldered.” 

Though Dolly was somewhat confused and 
confounded by this abrupt mode of procedure, 
yet there was after all something quaint and 
original about her aunt’s manner that amused 
her, and an honest sincerity in her face that won 
her regard. Miss Debby was one of those human 
beings who carry with them the apology for their 
own existence. It took but a glance to see that 
she was one of those forces of nature which 
move always in straight lines and which must 
be turned out for if one wishes to avoid a col- 
lision. All Miss Debby’s opinions had been made 
up, catalogued, and arranged, at a very early 
period of life, and she had no thought of change. 
She moved in a region of certainties, and always 
took her own opinions for granted with a calm 
supremacy altogether above reason. Yet there 
was all the while about her a twinkle of hu- 
morous consciousness, a vein of original drollery, 
which gave piquancy to the brusqueness of 


MISS DEBBY ARRIVES, 


343 


her manner and prevented people from taking 
offence. 

So this first evening Dolly stared, laughed, 
blushed, wondered, had half a mind to be pro- 
voked, but ended in a hearty liking of her new 
relative and most agreeable anticipations of her 
Boston visit. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


PREPARATIONS FOR SEEING LIFE. 



HE getting ready for Dolly’s journey 
began to be the engrossing topic of the 
little household. 

Miss Simpkins, the Poganuc dress- 
maker, had a permanent corner in the sitting- 
room, and discoursed ex cathedra on piping-cord” 
and “ ruffling cut on the bias,” and Dolly and Mrs. 
Cushing and Miss Deborah obediently ran up 
breadths, hemmed, stitched and gathered at her 
word of command. 

The general course of society in those days as 
to dress and outward adornment did not run 
with the unchecked and impetuous current that 
it now does. The matter of dress has become in 
our day a yoke and a burden, and many a good 
house-mother is having the springs of her exist- 
ence sapped by responsibilities connected with 
pinking and frilling and quilling, and an army of 
devouring cares as to hemming, stitching and 
embroidery, for which even the “ consolations of 
religion” provide no panacea. 

In the simple Puritan days, while they had 
344 


PREPARATIONS FOR SEEING LIFE, 


345 


before their eyes the query of Sacred Writ, 
“Can a maid forget her ornaments?” — they felt 
that there was no call to assist the maid in her 
meditations on this subject. Little girls were 
assiduously taught that to be neat and clean was 
the main beauty. Good mothers who had pretty 
daughters were very reticent of any remarks that 
might lead in the direction of personal vanity; 
any extra amount of time spent at the toilet, any 
apparent anxiety about individual adornment, 
met a persistent discouragement. 

Never in all her life before had Dolly heard 
so much discourse on subjects connected with 
personal appearance, and, to say the truth, she 
did not at all enter into it with the abandon and 
zeal of a girl of our modern days, and found the 
fitting and trying on and altering rather a tribu- 
lation to be conscientiously endured. She gath- 
ered, hemmed, stitched and sewed, however, and 
submitted herself to the trying-on process with 
resignation. 

“ The child don’t seem to think much of dress,” 
said Miss Debby, when alone with her sister. 
“ What is she thinking of, with those great eyes 
of hers?” 

“ Oh, of things she is planning,” said her 
mother; “of books she is reading, of things her 
father reads to her, of ways she can help me- 
in short, of anything but herself.” 


346 


PREPARA TIONS FOR SEEING LIFE. 


“ She is very pretty,” said Miss Debby, and 
is sure to be very attractive.” 

“Yes,” answered her mother, “but Dolly 
hasn’t the smallest notion of anything like co- 
quetry. Now, she has been a good deal admired 
here, and there have been one or two that would 
evidently have been glad to go farther ; but 
Dolly cuts everything of that kind short at once. 
She is very pleasant, very kind, very friendly, 
up to a certain point, but the moment she is made 
love to — everything is changed.” 

“Well,” said Miss Deborah, “I am glad I 
came after her. There’s everything, with a girl 
like Dolly, in putting her into proper society. 
When a girl comes to her years one should 
put her in the way of a suitable connection at 
once.” 

“ As to that,” said Mrs. Cushing, “ I always 
felt that things of that kind must 'be left to 
Providence.” 

“I believe, however, your husband preaches 
that we 'must ‘ use the means,’ doesn’t he ? One 
must put children in proper society, to give 
Providence a chance.” 

“Well, Debby, you have your schemes, but I 
forwarn you Dolly is one who goes her own 
pathj She seems very sweet, very gentle, very 
yielding, but she has a little quiet way of her 
own of looking at things and deciding for her- 


PREPARATIONS FOR SEEING LIFE. 


347 

self; she always knows her own mind very 
definitely, too.” 

‘‘Good!” said Miss Debby, taking a long and 
considerate pinch of snuff. “We shall see.” 

Miss Debby had unbounded confidence in her 
own powers of management. She looked upon 
Dolly as a very creditably educated young per- 
son so far, but did not in the least doubt her 
own ability to add a few finishing touches here 
and there, which should turn her out a per- 
fected specimen. 

On Sunday morning Miss Debby arose with 
the spirit of a confessor. For her brother-in-law 
the good lady had the sincerest respect and 
friendship, but on this particular da}^ she felt 
bound to give her patronage and support to 
the little church where, in her view, the truly 
appointed minister dispensed the teaching of the 
true church. 

The Doctor lifted his glasses and soberly smiled 
as he saw her compact energetic figure walking 
across the green to the little church. Dolly’s 
cheeks flamed up ; she was indignant ; to her it 
looked like a slight upon her father, and Dolly, 
as we have seen, had a very active spirit of 
partisanship. 

“Well, I must say I wonder at her doing 
so,” she commented. “Does she not think we 
are Christians?” 


348 


FREPAI^ATIONS FOR SEEING LIFE, 


She has a right to her own faith, my child,” 
said the Doctor. 

'‘Yes, but what would she think of me, when 
I am in Boston, if I should go off to some other 
church than hers?” 

“ My dear, I hope you will give her no such 
occasion,” said Mrs. Cushing. “Your conscience 
requires no such course of you ; hers does.” 

“Well, it seems to me that Aunty has a very 
narrow and bigoted way of looking at things,” 
said Dolly. 

“Your aunt is an old lady — very decided in 
all her opinions — not in the least likely to be 
changed by anything you or I or anybody can 
say to her. It is best to take her as she is.” 

“ Besides,” said the Doctor, “ she has as much 
right to think I am in the wrong as I have to 
think she is. Let every one be fully persuaded 
in his own mind.” 


“ I was very glad, my dear, you answered 
Dolly as you did,” said Mrs. Cushing to her 
husband that night when they were alone. “ She 
has such an intense feeling about all that re- 
lates to you, and the Episcopal party have been 
so often opposed to you, that she will need 
some care and caution now she is going where 
everything is to be changed. She will have to 


PREPARATION'S FOR SEEING LIFE. 


349 

see that there can be truth and goodness in 
both forms of worship.” 

Oh, certainly ; I will indoctrinate Dolly,” 
said the Doctor. “ Yes, I will set the whole 
thing before her. She has a good clear mind. 
I can make her understand.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIL 


LAST WORDS. 



It last all the preparations were made, 
and Dolly’s modest wardrobe packed 
to the very last article, so that her bu- 
reau drawers looked mournfully empty. 

It was a little hair trunk, with “ D. C.” em- 
bossed in brass nails upon one end, that contained 
all this young lady’s armor — a very different 
affair from the Saratoga trunks of our modern 
belles. The pink brocade with its bunches of 
rose-buds; some tuckers of chome old lace that 
had figured in her mother’s bridal toilet; a few 
bits of ribbon; a white India muslin dress, em- 
broidered by her own hands; — these were the 
stock in trade of a young damsel of her times, 
and, strange as it may appear, young ladies then 
were stated by good authority to have been just 
as pretty and bewitching as now, when their 
trunks are several times as large. 

Dolly’s place and Aunt Debby’s had been 
properly set down on Kiel’s stage-book for the 
next morning at six o’clock; and now remained 
only an evening of last words. 

350 



LAST WORDS. 


351 


So Dolly sits by her father in his study, where 
from infancy she has retreated for pleasant quiet 
hours, where even the books she never read 
seem to her like familiar friends from the 
number of times she has pondered the titles 
upon their backs. And now, though she wants 
to go, and feels the fluttering eagerness of the 
young bird, who has wings to use and would 
like to try the free air, yet the first flight from 
the nest is a little fearful. Boston is a long 
way off — three long days — and Dolly has never 
been farther from Poganuc than she has ridden 
by her father’s side in the old chaise; so that 
the very journey has as much importance in 
her eyes as fifty years later a modern young 
lady will attach to a voyage to England. 

‘‘ My daughter,” said the Doctor, “ I know you 
will have a pleasant time; I hope, a profitable 
one. Your aunt is a good woman. I have great 
confidence in her affection for you; your own 
mother could not feel more sincere desire for 
your happiness. And your grandmother is an 
eminently godly woman. Of course, while with 
them you will attend the services of the Episcopal 
Church; for that you have my cordial consent 
and willingness. The liturgy of the church is 
full of devout feelings, and the Thirty-nine 
Articles (with some few slight exceptions) are a 
very excellent statement of truth. In adopting 


352 


LAST WOTDS. 


the spirit and language of the prayers in the 
service you cannot go amiss ; very excellent 
Christians have been nourished and brought up 
upon them. So have no hesitation about uniting 
in all Christian exercises with your relatives in 
Boston.” 

“ Oh, Papa, I am almost sorry I am going,” 
said Dolly, impulsively. “ My home has been 
always so happy, I feel almost afraid to leave it. 
It seems as if I ought not to leave you and 
Mother alone.” 

The Doctor smiled and stroked her hair gently 
in an absent way. “We shall miss you, dear 
child, of course ; you are the last bird in the nest, 
but your mother and I are quite sure it is for 
the best.” 

And then the conversation wandered back over 
many a pleasant field of the past — over walks 
and talks and happy hours long gone; over the 
plans and hopes and wishes for her brothers that 
Dolly had felt proud to be old enough to share ; 
until the good man’s voice sometimes would 
grow husky as he spoke and Dolly’s long eye- 
lashes were wet and tearful. It was the kind of 
pleasant little summer rain of tears that comes so 
easily to young eyes that have never known what 
real sorrow is. 

And when Dolly after her conference came to 
bid her mother good-night, she fell upon her neck 


LAST WORDS. 


353 

and wept for reasons she could scarce explain 
herself. 

‘‘I should like to know what you’ve been 
saying to Dolly,” said Mrs. Cushing to the Doc- 
tor, suddenly appearing at the study-door. 

“Saying to Dolly?” exclaimed the Doctor, 
looking up dreamily, why, nothing particular.” 

“Well, you’ve made her cry. I declare! you 
men have no kind of idea how to talk to a girl.” 

The Doctor at first looked amazed, and then 
an amused expression passed slowly over his face. 
He drew his wife down beside him and passing 
his arm around her said significantly, 

“ There was a girl, once, who thought I knew 
how to talk to her — but that is a good many 
years ago.” 

Mrs. Cushing laughed, and blushed, and said, 
“ Oh, nonsense 1” 

But the Doctor looked triumphant. 

“As to Dolly,” he said, “never fear. She’s a 
tender-hearted little thing, and made herself cry 
thinking that we should be lonesome, and a dozen 
other little pretty kindly things that set her tears 
going. She’s a precious child, and we shall miss 
her. I have settled her mind as to the church 
question/' 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


dolly’s first letter from boston. 



iY Dear Parents; Here I am in Bos- 
ton at last, and take the very first quiet 
opportunity to write to you. Hiel 
Jones said he would call and tell you 
immediately about how we got through the first 
day. He was very kind and attentive to us all 
day, taking care at every stopping-place to get 
the bricks heated, so that our feet were kept quite 
warm, and in everything he was so thoughtful 
and obliging that Aunt Deborah in time quite 
forgave him for presuming on his rights as a 
human being to keep up a free conversation with 
us at intervals, which he did with his usual 
cheerful goodwill. 

It amuses me all the time to talk with Aunty. 
All her thoughts are of a century back, and she 
is so unconscious and positive about them that 
it is really entertaining. All this talk about the 
lower classes,” and the dangers to be appre- 
hended from them ; of first families ” and their 
ways and laws and opinions; and of the impro- 
priety of being too familiar with common people, 
354 



DOLLY'S FIRST LETTER FROM BOSTON, 3^5 

amuses me. She seems to me like a woman in 
a book — one of the old-world people one reads 
of in Scott’s novels. She is very kind to me ; no 
mother could be kinder— but all in a sort of 
taking-possession way. She tells me where to sit, 
and what to do, and what to wear, and seems to 
feel a comfortable sense that she has me now all 
to herself. It amuses me to think how little she 
knows of what I really am inside; 

We stopped the first night at a gloomy little 
tavern, and our room was so cold that Aunty 
and I puffed at each other like two goblins, a 
cloud coming out of our mouths every time we 
opened them. They made a fire in the chimney, 
but the chimney had swallows’ nests in it and 
smoked ; so we had to open our windows to let 
out the smoke, which did not improve matters. 

The next night we slept at Worcester, and 
thought we would try not having a fire in our 
room ; so it grew colder and colder all night, 
and in the morning we had to break the ice in 
our pitchers. My fingers felt like so many icicles, 
and my hair snapped with the electricity. But 
Aunty kept up good cheer and made me laugh 
through it all with her odd sayings. She is very 
droll and has most original ways of taking things, 
and is so active and courageous nothing comes 
amiss to her. 

Our third and last day was in a driving snow- 


356 DOLLY'S FIRST LETTER FROM BOSTON, 

storm, and the stage was upon runners. I could 
see nothing all day but white drifts and eddies of 
snow-feathers filling the air; but at sunset all 
cleared away and the sun came out just as we 
were coming into Boston. My heart beat quite 
fast when I saw the dome of the State House 
and thought of all the noble, good men that had 
lived and died for our country in that brave old 
city. My eyes were full of tears, but I didn’t 
say a word to Aunty, for she doesn’t feel about 
any of these things as I do. I daresay she thinks 
it a great pity that the old Church and King 
times cannot come round again. 

It was quite dark when we got home to 
Grandmamma’s, and a lovely, real home it seems 
to me. Dear Grandmamma was so glad to see 
me, and she held me in her arms and cried and 
said I was just my mother over again ; and that 
pleased me, for I like to hear that I look like 
Mother. Mamma knows just how the old parlor 
looks, with Grandmamma’s rocking-chair by the 
fire and her table of books by her side. The 
house and everything about it is like a story- 
book, the furniture is old and dark and quaint, 
and the pictures on the wall are all of old-time 
people — aunts and cousins and uncles and grand- 
fathers — looking down sociably at us in the 
flickering fire-light. 

It was all nice and sweet and good. By and 


DOLLY'S FIRST LETTER FROM BOSTON. 357 

by Uncle Israel came in and I was introduced 
to him, and our new English cousin, Alfred 
Dunbar. They both seemed glad to see me, 
and we had a very cheerful, pleasant evening. 
Uncle Israel is a charming old gentleman, full 
of talk and stories of by-gone times, and Cousin 
Alfred is not stiff and critical as Englishmen 
often are when they come to our country. He 
likes America, and says he comes here to make 
it his country, and so far he is delighted with 
all he has seen. He seems to be one of those 
who have the gift of seeing the best side of 
everything. I think it is as great a gift as any 
we read of in fairy stories. 

Well, altogether we had a very pleasant even- 
ing, and at nine o’clock the servants came in, 
and Grandmamma read prayers out of the great 
prayer-book by her side. It was very sweet 
to hear her trembling voice commending us all 
to God’s care before we lay down to rest. 
Grandmamma is really altogether lovely. I feel 
as if it was a blessing to be in the house with 
her. I am so sleepy that I must leave this let- 
ter to be finished to-morrow. 

December 24M. 

I have not written a word to-day, because ^ 
Aunty said that we had come home so late 
that it would be all we could do to get the 
house trimmed for Christmas; and the minute 


358 DOLLY’S FIRST LETTER FROM BOSTON. 

breakfast was done there was a whole cart-load 
of greens discharged into the hall, and we set 
to work to adorn everything. I made garlands 
and wreaths and crosses, and all sorts of pretty 
things, and Cousin Alfred put them up, and 
Aunty said that really, “for a blue Presbyterian 
girl,” I showed wonderful skill and insight in 
the matter. 

Cousin Alfred seemed puzzled, and asked me 
privately if our family were “ Dissenters.” I 
explained to him how in our country the tables 
were turned and it is the Episcopalians that are 
the dissenters; and he was quite interested and 
wanted to know all about it. So I told him 
that you could tell much better than I could, 
and he said he was coming some day to see his 
relations in the country, and inquire all about 
these things. He seems to be studying the facts 
in our country philosophically, and when I told 
him how I meant to visit the Copp’s Hill Cem- 
etery and the other graveyards where our fathers 
are buried, he said he should like to go with 
me. He is not at all trifling and worldly, like 
a great many young men, but seems to think a 
great deal and to want to know everything about 
the country, and I know Papa would be interested 
to talk with him. 

Between us, you’ve no idea how like a bower 
we have made the old house look. Aunty prides 


DOLLY'S FIRST LETTER FROM BOSTON. 359 

herself on keeping the old English customs, and 
had the Yule log brought in and laid with all 
ceremony, and we had all the old Christmas 
dishes for supper in the evening, and grew very 
merry indeed. And indeed we have made it so 
late that, if I am to sleep at all to-night, I must 
close this letter which I want to have ready to 
be posted to-morrow morning. 

Dear parents, I know you will be glad that 
I am happy and enjoying everything, but I never 
forget you, and think of you every moment. 

Your affectionate Dolly, 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 
dolly’s second letter. 



trees. 


Y Dear Parents: We had such a glo- 
rious Christmas morning — clear, clean 
white snow lying on the earth and on 
all, even the little branches of the 
You know, Mamma, the great square 
garden back of the house. Every little tree 
there was glittering like fairy frost work. We 
all hung our stockings up the night before, and 
at breakfast examined our presents. I had love- 
ly things — a beautiful prayer-book bound in 
purple velvet from Grandmamma, and a charming 
necklace of pearls from Uncle Israel, and a scar- 
let cloak trimmed with lace from Aunt Deborah, 
and a beautiful Chinese fan from cousin Alfred. 
Aunty has been putting up the usual Christmas 
bundle for you ; so you will all share my pros- 
perity. 

I was waked in the morning by the old North 
chimes, which played all sorts of psalm tunes 
and seemed to fill the air with beautiful thoughts. 
It was very sweet to me to think of what it 
was all about. It is not necessary to believe 
360 



DOLLY'S SECOND LETTER. 


361 

that our Saviour really was born this very day 
of all others ; but that he was born on some 
day we all know. So when we walked to church 
together, and the church was like one green 
bower, and the organ played, and the choir sung, 
it seemed as if all there was in me was stirred. 
I never heard the Te Deum before, and how 
glorious, how wonderful it is! It took me up 
to the very gates of heaven. I felt as if I was 
hearing the angels sing ; and when I thought of 
the prophets, the apostles, the martyrs, and the 
holy church of Christ throughout the world, I 
felt that I was one with them, and was happy 
to be one drop in that great ocean of joy. For 
though I was only a little one I felt in it, and 
with it, and a part of it, and all the joy and 
glory was mine. I trembled with happiness. 

When the communion service came I went with 
Grandmamma and knelt at the altar. It seemed as 
if Christ himself was there giving me the bread 
and the wine. I never felt so near to Him. 
After church I went home. I was so full that 
I could not speak. No one else seemed to feel 
as I did — they were all used to it — but it was 
all new and wonderful to me, and made heavenly 
things so real that I felt almost averse to coming 
back to every day life. I wanted to go alone 
to my room and dwell on it. There was quite 
a company invited to dinner, and I did not feel 


DOLLY'S SECOND LETTER. 


362 

like joining them, but I knew Aunty wanted me 
to make myself agreeable, and so I tried my 
best, and after a while took my part in the con- 
versation, as gay as the rest of them. Only 
once in a while some of those noble words I 
had been hearing came back to me with a sudden 
thrill, and would bring tears to my eyes even 
while I was gayest. 

Cousin Alfred noticed that I was feeling very 
much about something, and in the evening when 
we were alone for a few minutes he asked me 
about it, and then I told him all how the service 
affected me, and made me feel. He looked a 
little surprised at first, and then he seemed 
thoughtful; and when I said, should think 
those who hear and say such glorious things at 
church, ought to live the very noblest lives, to 
be perfect Christians,” he said, ^‘Cousin, I am 
sorry to say, it is not so with me. We hear 
these things from childhood; we hear them 
Sunday after Sunday, in all sorts of moods, and 
I’m afraid many of us form a habit of not really 
thinking how much they mean. I wish I could 
hear our service as you have done, for the first 
time, and that it would seem as real and earnest 
to me as it does to you.” 

We talked a good deal after this; he has a 
deep, thoughtful mind, and I wish you, my dear 
Father, could talk with him. I know you will 


DOLLY'S SECOND LETTER. 


363 

like him. Is n’t it pleasant to find relations that 
one can like and esteem so much ? Cousin 
Alfred is like a brother to me already, and to- 
morrow we are going out to explore the antiq- 
uities of Boston. He seems as much interested 
in them as I do. 

Dear Parents, this Christmas puts me in mind 
of the time years ago when they dressed the 
little church in Poganuc, and I ran away, over 
to the church, and got asleep under a great 
cedar-bush, listening to the Christmas music. It 
affected me then just as it has done now. Is it 
not beautiful to think we are singing words that 
Christians have been singing for more than a 
thousand years ! It gives you the feeling of 
being in a great army — one of a great host ; and 
for a poor little insignificant thing like me it is 
a joyful feeling. 

You ought to see how delighted Aunt Deborah 
is that I take so kindly to the prayer-book and 
the service. She gives me little approving nods 
now and then, and taps me on the shoulder in 
a patronizing way and says there is good blood 
in my veins, for all I was brought up a Presby- 
terian ! This is all very well, but when she goes 
to unchurching all our churches and saying 
there are no ordained ministers in the United 
States except the few in Episcopal pulpits, I am 
dreadfully tempted to run a tilt with her, though 


364 DOLLY'S SECOND LETTER, 

I know it would do no earthly good. I believe 
I should do it, however, if Cousin Alfred did 
not take up the argument on our side, and com- 
bat her so much better than I could that I am 
content to let her alone. She tells him that he 
is no Englishman and no churchman, but a very 
radical ; and he tells her that he came to America 
to learn to use his common sense and get rid of 
old rubbish! 

For all this they are excellent friends, and 
dear old Grandmamma always takes our part be- 
cause she is so afraid Aunt Debby will hurt my 
feelings, though Aunty says that in her heart 
Grandmamma is a regular old Tory. 

I asked Grandma about this one day, when we 
were alone, and she said she always loved and 
honored the king and royal family, and was 
grieved when they stopped praying for them in 
the churches. If she was a Tory she was so 
from love, and it is quite charming to hear her 
talk about the old times. 

It seems to me no great change ever comes 
on this earth without grieving some good people. 

But it is past midnight and I must not sit up 
writing any longer. Dear parents, I wish you 
a happy Christmas! 

Your loving 


Dolly. 


CHAPTER XL. 


ALFRED DUNBAR TO EUGENE SINCLAIR. 



EAR Old Fellow: Here I am in 
America — in Boston — and every day I 
spend here makes me more and more 
satisfied with my change of situation. 
The very air here is free and inspiring, full of 
new hope and life. The old world with all its 
restraints and bounds, its musty prejudices, its 
time-honored inconveniences and hindrances, is a 
thing gone by ; it is blue in the dim distance, and 
I see before me a free, generous, noble country 
that offers everything equally to all. I like 
Massachusetts; I like Boston; and more and 
more I feel that I am a fortunate fellow to have 
been selected by my uncle for this lot. 

He is all that is kind and generous and fatherly 
to me, and I should be an ungrateful cur if I 
did not give him the devotion of a son. He is 
so amiable and reasonable that this is not at all 
a hard task. 

We are spending our Christmas holidays with 
his mother and sister; after that he wdll go to 

365 


366 ALFRED DUNBAR TO EUGENE SINCLAIR. 

housekeeping in his own house. He wants me 
to get married with all convenient dispatch, but 
I am one that cannot enter into the holy state 
simply to furnish a housekeeper to my uncle or 
to place a well-dressed, well-mannered woman 
at the head of my own table. 

You at home called me fastidious and romantic. 
Well, I am so to this degree, that I never shall 
marry unless I see the woman I cannot live 
without. The feast of matrimony may be well 
appointed, the oxen and fadings be killed, and 
all things ready, but I never shall accept unless 
some divine power compels'' me to come in; — 
and up to this day I have felt no such call. 

Mark me, I say, up to this day ; for I am by 
no means certain I shall say as much a month 
hence. To be frank with you, there is spend- 
ing the Christmas holidays under the same roof 
with me a very charming girl whom I am in- 
structed by my Aunt Deborah to call “ Cousin 
Dolly.” 

Now, in point of fact, this assumption of re- 
lationship is the most transparent moonshine. I 
am, I believe, second or third cousin to my 

Uncle Israel,” who is real uncle to this Miss 
Dolly. Of course my cousinship to her must 
be of a still more remote and impalpable na- 
ture ; but if it is agreed that we call each other 
‘‘ cousin,” certainly it is not I that am going to 


ALFRED DUNBAR TO EUGENE SINCLAIR. 367 

object to the position and its immunities— oh, 
no! A cousin stands on a vantage-ground ; all 
sorts of delightful freedoms and privileges are 
permitted to him I 

I “take the good the gods provide” me, and 
so Cousin Dolly and I have become the best of 
friends, and we have been busy making wreaths 
and crosses and Christmas decorations under the 
superintendence of Aunt Deborah, in the most 
edifying and amicable way. This Aunt Deborah 
is the conventional upright, downright, good, 
opinionated, honest, sincere old Englishwoman, 
of whom there are dozens at every turn in the 
old country, but who here in America have the 
interest that appertains to the relics of a past 
age. But she is vigorously determined that in 
her domains the old customs shall be in full 
force, and every rule of Christmas-keeping ob- 
served. 

Of course I put up mistletoe in all the proper 
places, and I found my new cousin, having groAvn 
up as a New England Congregational minister’s 
daughter, knew nothing of its peculiar privileges 
and peculiarities, so that when the kissing began 
I saw a bright flush of amazement and almost - 
resentment pass over her face ; though when it 
was explained to be an old Christmas custom she 
laughed and gave way with a good grace. But 
I observed my young lady warily inspecting 


368 ALFRED DUNBAR TO EUGENE SINCLAIR. ^ 

the trimmings of the room, and quietly avoiding 
all the little green traps thereafter. 

It is quite evident that, though she has all the 
gentleness of a dove, she has some of the wisdom 
of the serpent, and possesses very definite opinions 
as to what she likes and does not like. She im- 
presses me as having, behind an air of softness 
and timidity, a very positive and decided char- 
acter. There is a sort of reserved force in her; 
and one must study her to become fully acquaint- 
ed with her. Thus far I hope I have not lost 
ground. 

I find she is an enthusiast for her country, for 
her religion, for everything high and noble ; and 
not one of the mere dolls that have no capability 
for anything but ribbons and laces. She has 
promised to show me the antiquities of Boston 
and put me in the way of knowing all that a 
good American ought to know ; you see our time 
for the holidays is very agreeably planned out 
in advance. 

And now, my dear old fellow, I see you shake 
your head and say. What is to come of all this? 

Wait and see. If it should so happen that I 
should succeed in pleasing this little American 
princess— if, having gained her ear as Cousin, I 
should succeed in proving to her that I am no 
cousin at all, but want to be more than cousin or 
brother or the whole world together to her — if 


ALFRED DUNBAR TO EUGENE SINCLAIR. 369 

all this should come to pass, why — there have 
stranger things happened in this world of ours. 

But I am running before my time. Miss Dolly 
is yet an unknown quantity and there may be 
a long algebraic problem to be done before I can 
know what may be; and so, good-night for the 
present. Yours ever truly, 

Alfred Dunbar. 


CHAPTER XLL 


FINALE. 



IFTER reading the preceding letters, 
there is no one who has cared to follow 
Dolly’s fortunes thus far that is not 
ready to declare the end of the story. 
One sees how the Christmas holidays stretched 
on and on ; how Aunt and Grandmamma im- 
portuned Dolly to stay longer; how Dolly staid, 
and hoAv she and Cousin Alfred walked and 
talked and studied New England history, and 
visited all the shrines in Boston and Cambridge 
and the region round about; how Aunt Debby 
plumed herself on the interesting state of things 
evidently growing up, but wisely said nothing 
to either party; how at last when spring came, 
and April brought back the mayfiower buds, and 
Dolly felt that she could stay no longer but 
must go home to her parents, “ Cousin Alfred” 
declared that he could not think of her taking 
a three days’ journey alone, that he must go 
with her and protect her, and improve the oppor 
370 


FINALE. 


371 


tunity to make the acquaintance of his relations 
in the country. 

All this came to pass, and one fine evening, 
just at sunset, Hiel drove into Poganuc in glory, 
and deposited Dolly and her little hair trunk 
and her handsome attendant at the Parsonage 
door. 

There was a bluebird singing on the top of 
the tall buttonwood tree opposite, just as he 
used to sing years before ; and, as to Hiel, he 
returned home even better content with himself 
than ordinarily. 

‘There now, Nabby! didn’t I tell ye what 
would happen when Dolly went to Boston ? 
Wal, Pve just set her down to the Doctor’s 
with as fine a young sprig as you’d wish to 
see, who came all the way from Boston with her. 
I tell you, that air young man’s eyes is sot ; he 
knows what he’s come to Poganuc fer, ef no 
one else don’t.” 

“ Dear me !” exclaimed Nabby and Mother 
Jones, both rushing to the window simultane- 
ously with the vain hope of getting a glimpse. 

“ Oh, there’s no use lookin’ !” said Hiel ; 
“ they’re gone in long ago. Doctor and Mis 
Cushing was standin’ in the door-way when I 
come up, and mighty glad they was to see her, 
and him too, and shook hands with him. Oh, 
thet air’s a fixed-up thing, you may depend. 


372 


FINALE, 


“ Dear me, what is he?” queried Mother Jones. 

Do you know, Hiel?” 

Of course I know,” said Hiel ; he’s a mer- 
chant in the Injy trade up there to Boston. I 
expect he makes lots o’ money.” 

“ Dear me ! I hope they won’t set their hearts 
on worldly prosperity,” said Mother Jones in a 
lugubrious tone; “this ’ere’s a dyin’ world.” 

“ For all that. Mother,” said Hiel as they sat 
down to the tea-table, “you enjoy a cup o’ hot 
tea as well as any woman livin’, and why 
shouldn’t the parson’s folks be glad o’ their good 
things ?” 

“ Wal, I don’ know,” answered Mother Jones, 
“but it allers kind o’ scares me when everything 
seems to be goin’ jest right fer folks. Ye know 
the hymn says: 

‘ We should suspect some danger nigh 
When we possess delight,’ 

I remember poor Bill Parmerlee fell down dead 
the very week he was married !” 

“ Well, Nabby and I neither of us fell down 
dead when we was married,” said Hiel, “ and 
nobody else that ever I heerd on, so we won’t 
weep and wail if Dolly Cushing hez got a rich, 
handsome feller, and is goin’ to live in Boston.” 

But, after all, Dolly and Alfred Dunbar were 
not yet engaged. No decisive word had been 


FINALE. 


373 

spoken between them ; though it seemed now as 
if but a word were wanting. 

It was after a week of happy visiting, when 
he had made himself most charming to all in 
the house, when Dolly and he had together ex- 
plored every walk and glen and waterfall around 
Poganuc, that at last the young man found voice 
to ask the Doctor for what he wanted; and, 
armed with the parental approval, to put the 
decisive question to Dolly. Her answer is not 
set down. But it is on record that in the month 
of June there was a wedding at Poganuc which 
furnished the town with things to talk about 
for weeks. 

It was a radiant June morning, when the elms 
of Poganuc were all alive with birds, when the 
daisies were white in the meadows, and the bobo- 
link on the apple-tree was outdoing himself, that 
Kiel drove up to the door of the Parsonage to 
take Dolly and her husband their first day’s 
journey towards their new home. There were 
the usual smiles and tears and kissing and cry- 
ing, and then Hiel shut the stage-door, mounted 
his box, and drove away in triumph. It was 
noticed that he had ornamented his horses with 
a sprig of lilac blossoms over each ear, and 
wore a great bouquet in his button-hole. 

And so our Dolly goes to her new life, 
and, save in memories of her childhood, is to 


374 


FINALE. 


be no longer one of the good people of Poga- 
nuc. 


Years have passed since then. Dolly has held 
her place among the matronage of Boston; her 
sons have graduated at Harvard, and her daugh- 
ters have recalled to memory the bright eyes 
and youthful bloom of their mother. 

As to Poganuc, all whom we knew there have 
passed away; all the Town-Hill aristocracy and 
the laboring farmers of the outskirts have gone, 
one by one, to the peaceful sleep of the Poga- 
nuc graveyard. There was laid the powdered 
head, stately form, and keen blue eye of Col- 
onel Davenport ; there came in time the once 
active brain and ready tongue of Judge Belcher; 
there, the bright eyes and genial smile of Judge 
Gridley ; there, the stalwart form of Tim Haw- 
kins, the gray, worn frame of Zeph Higgins. 
Even Hiel’s cheery face and vigorous arm had 
its time of waxing old and passing away, and 
was borne in to lie quiet under the daisies. 
The pastor and his wife sleep there peacefully 
with their folded flock around them. 

“ Kinsman and toMmsman are laid side by side, 

Yet none have saluted, and none have replied.” 

A village of white stones stands the only wit- 
ness of the persons of our story. Even the old 
meeting-house is dissolved and gone. 


FINALE. 


375 


Generation passeth, generation cometh, saith 
the wise man, but the earth abideth forever. 
The hills of Poganuc are still beautiful in their 
summer woodland dress. The Poganuc river still 
winds at their feet with gentle murmur. The 
lake, in its steel-blue girdle of pines, still reflects 
the heavens as a mirror ; its silent forest shores 
are full of life and wooded beauty. The elms 
that overarch the streets of the central village 
have spread their branches wider, and form a 
beautiful walk where other feet than those we 
wot of are treading. As other daisies have 
sprung in the meadows, and other bobolinks and 
bluebirds sing in the tree-tops, so other men 
and women have replaced those here written of, 
and the story of life still goes on from day to 
day among the Poganuc People. 

The End. 









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